


The Price of Spring

by Minka



Category: Jrock, the GazettE
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Aoi is dark, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Graphic Description, Happy endings are in the eye of the beholder, Homelessness, M/M, Minka writes porn! You all thought I couldn't do it!, PWP that got far too much plot, Prostitution, Ruki isn't a pushover or crybaby!, harsh reality, old fic that got lost and never saw the light of day, one shot that ended up with five chapters, unforgiving romance, untypical characterizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9798290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: In a secret room on a street corner with no end, a destitute day-worker buys spring.Set against the backdrop of Japan’s most infamous Red Light District, Tobitashinchi, Osaka.





	1. Release.

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s notes:** This is one of those fics that is rather personal, but not in a ‘it happened to me’ way obviously. In this I try to describe the feeling of these streets, which I have walked, and get inside the minds of those living in such harsh circumstances. While I hope it is a good read for everyone, I want you all to know that it was a head-trip to write, and to keep in mind that this is a fictional take on reality. Welcome to this very seedy, very dangerous, and very real side of Japan. 
> 
> I always said that I wanted to do a prostitute fic with a difference. I guess this is it… 
> 
> ALSO, wow, this fic is only… four years late. Ha. It’s sad to see that fandom is dead, that LJ is dead and that we all moved on. Still, I found this gem lost in a sea of folders on my laptop and after reading it with some wine, I decided that I may as well just post it up for the sake of it. 
> 
> So enjoy, kids! 
> 
> *****
> 
>  
> 
> **Quick Author rant:**  
> 
> 
> I never put notes at the top of things, but I just wanted to include a few links that might help bring the places described here to life.
> 
> For those of you who had never heard of Tobitashinchi and the nearby Kamagasaki then these links will either provide you with some heavy reading material, or just some images. While none of these pictures are mine (I honestly take my hat off to anyone who was brave enough to walk around these neighbourhoods with their cameras/phones out) these are the streets we walked and these are the types of things we saw. 
> 
> **Kamagasaki** – It is Japan’s largest homeless district and down and out people from the whole country flock there to try and find a sense of belonging.  
> [A feature on Kamagasaki](http://wordpress.tokyotimes.org/kamagasaki-japans-biggest-slum/)  
> [A Video](http://%20http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGATsLW_fIg) of the area  
> [Shopping Mall Video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pGdiR0YxoU%20) – This shows the shopping mall we walked down where there were drunks everywhere, throwing up and pissing and then passing out against the garage doors. This mall leads all the way down to Tobitashinchi. The only things open were dodgy snack bars, all with middle aged women working… it doesn’t look half as decrepit during the day. 
> 
> **Tobitashinchi** – is the little known, yet biggest, Red Light District in Japan. It sits under a busy overpass, with Kamagasaki on one side and Shinsekai (the new world) on the other. It has a strict no photo rule in place that goes so far as to have council issued boards on the streets saying as such. There are a few photos floating around on the net however, none of them really show what it is like walking around there.
> 
> [A great source of Images](http://gigazine.net/news/20120521-tobita-shinchi/)  
> [Images on Tumblr](http://mrstsk.tumblr.com/post/14951319129)  
> [A video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wrdNavu8ACI%20) taken from the privacy of a car. The quality isn’t great, but it shows the area for what it is.  
> [Iroiro News](http://www.iroironews.net/public/37579.html)
> 
> ****
> 
> Get the Soundtrack [here](http://minka-g.livejournal.com/127147.html). Seriously, you need this!

# Release.

###  _It was a misty day. I became a prisoner of you who was nameless, fleeting and beautiful._

 

 

Aoi staggered as the man shoved him. 

 

“Get out of here,” the words were loud in his head, the lights of the street bright to his eyes.  Aoi felt his stomach lurch as his feet moved without thought.  Grabbing the wall, Aoi doubled over, one hand pressed against his middle as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk.  It splattered wetly, the sound of nothing but liquid being thrown against stone. 

 

The dry leaves at his feet splashed with colour as he retched a second time. 

 

Head spinning and stomach churning, Aoi clawed at the wall beside him until his fingernails throbbed in protest.  He hardly felt the pain though; never really did until morning came around and even then, the agony didn’t kick in till late afternoon when then hangover subsided and the cravings started. 

 

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Aoi straightened up as best he could and turned his eyes towards the road ahead.  Home was that way, he knew that.  He had great direction after a drink or two.  Not that it really mattered if he made it home or not; after all, not much defined home other than a place to sleep and in this state, Aoi could sleep anywhere. 

 

Even so, he was one of the lucky ones.  He had a home; a palace in the eyes of most.  Blue and vibrant, it moved as one with the autumn wind, the tarps hardly blocking the cold.  He shared a wall with an elderly man, the barrier between them made of old bricks and rotting pallet boards. 

 

It was with that in mind that Aoi took one shaking step after the other, his head spinning and the ground surging before his eyes.  His shoulder hit something hard and warm and before Aoi knew it he felt himself reeling backwards.  Feet kicking up dust, Aoi’s arms windmilled as he struggled to keep his balance. 

 

Bloodshot eyes rising from the ground, Aoi blinked, the two men in front of him becoming one.  The man looked disgusted, his hand reaching up to brush at the shoulder Aoi had walked into.

 

“Fucking drunks,” the man swore.  Aoi only half saw the glob of spit that landed on the toe of his shoe as the man skulked away, his head high in his well fitted suit. 

 

“Asshole,” Aoi muttered under his breath, just loud enough to make him feel rebellious but soft enough not to be heard.  He wasn’t looking for a fight; not tonight at least. 

 

The day had been long and hard, the work taking its toll on his mind and body which built over the past month.  But it had left money in his pocket, a feeling that Aoi wasn’t at all accustomed to and now, on the day that the contract all ended and Aoi was once again thrust into unemployment, he had gone out to celebrate. 

 

Not that tonight was all that different from other nights.  He slinked through the shadows, sticking to small, barely lit bars that sold shots of rocket fuel for two hundred yen and food even cheaper.  And, just like other nights, Aoi had ignored the food and drunk himself blind. 

 

It was easier that way.  Senses dulled, he didn’t have to remember who he was or where he was or how and why he celebrated.  He didn’t have to notice the mould on the tiles of the bar walls, or the stickiness of the single row of seats.  He didn’t see the owners and other patrons, didn’t see their world worn eyes and the split skin of their hands or the shortened fingers that stood out so clearly when wrapped around a cigarette. 

 

With alcohol in his system, Aoi could believe that he was just a young man out for a night on the town instead of being a shadow in regular places. 

 

And so he drank.  One shot after the other because it was cheaper than dulling it with lukewarm mixers.  He’d even splurged and bought himself a packet of cigarettes, the four hundred and thirty yen nothing to him in his intoxicated state.  He’d smoked them to the butts, savouring the feeling of nicotine making his already light head dizzy and he’d laughed as he’d tried to through the empty, crumbled packing into a bin and missed spectacularly. 

 

No one cut him off, no one refused to serve him and no one told him he’d had too much.  That wasn’t the way in these parts.  If he had money to spend then they took him with a smile and a slight under pour; profit and loss and in the back of his mind Aoi knew that half of them probably wanted him to drop dead on their bar simply so they could raid his wallet. 

 

Aoi didn’t care.  After all, it was his night to celebrate.  He may now be back to being unemployed but he’d worked hard and long to get to that state which was more than he could say about the average day-worker.  He’d done his part, won his role with early mornings and the promise to be good though blurry, bloodshot eyes, and he had been paid until the end of the contact. 

 

Really there was nothing more that Aoi could ask for in their neighbourhood. 

 

Stomach churning again, Aoi realised that there was one thing he wanted and that was bed.  It may not have been all that comfortable and it may have been covered in threadbare sheets and a blanket worn black, but to him it was home.  It was warm and lying there, he could pretend that the world wasn’t spinning and pretend that he’d go looking for more work in the morning. 

 

Weaving drunkenly down the street, Aoi did his best to keep his feet from catching the old pavement while navigating slow moving taxis.  It was always the same here at night, always the same story but with faces that Aoi would never remember clearly enough to know that they were different to the last.  The men came in their suits with their cases, their polished shoes clunking against the pavement.  Or they came in taxis, the driver going slow and circling the streets before a choice was made.

 

Aoi never thought about it, never even noticed the scenery; it had to all be the same in any red light district.  Scantily clad girls and desperate guys and Aoi was nothing more than the drunk that scared both parties.  He had his part to play and that was to prove that behind all these shimmering lights – things which burnt his eyes – there was a darkness that couldn’t be denied. 

 

He had no clue what made him actually stop and look at the first window he hit.  He walked these streets frequently and never once paid the girls an ounce of attention.  They didn’t take well to his kind and Aoi shared mutual feelings; to him they were there to suck more than just cock.  They took money just as easily as they took souls.  People far more fortunate than Aoi wasted away to nothing in places like this, lost in ideals and dreams of soft lips and timid caresses. 

 

They were like dolls; wide eyed, pale and flawless, each one more lovely than the next.  The pink lights illuminated the flush of their cheeks, a colour that Aoi could never tell if it was real or fake.  They each had their masks of makeup and extensions, of forced smiles and contrite movements; an outfit picked to mark them as original in a sea of clones.  One was a nurse, her dress zipped down low and her hair pulled back messily.  Another was a school girl, signifying all that was wrong with their country while spurring on the perversions of sick old men.  Aoi walked past another girl, a haafu with a voluptuous bust hidden in the folds of a habit, her makeup and crimson lipstick a stark reminder that there was nothing godly about her. 

 

With each offering, each girl displayed for sacrifice, came a mama-san.  An older woman, harsh and broken and aged beyond repair who sat at the front door, watching every car and pedestrian with a calculating eye.  People joked that the mama-san’s could smell money, that they could feel its presence whenever someone with it walked by.  Aoi, for all his cynical ways, didn’t doubt that for a moment as none of them even gave him a second look. 

 

Aoi never boasted about his appearance, not that he considered such things often.  For someone in his position in life, he really wasn’t offensive.  Tall and athletic, his body neither showing the signs of malnutrition or alcohol abuse, he had long, dark hair that while scruffy wasn’t prone to knotting and was still in possession of all his teeth.  All in all, for those that struggled day by day beside him, Aoi had it pretty damn good. 

 

Yet still, for all his physical charm, none of the mama-san’s or the puppets in the windows looked at him, as the one thing he didn’t have was the scent of money.   

 

It drove Aoi mad.  Not with lust, not with want, but with something else that his alcohol blurred mind couldn’t focus on.  Repulsion?  Insignificance in the eyes of the unreal?  Or maybe it had to do with those that frequented here, the men that drove past in their taxi’s, eyeing the girls like a catalogue from the comfort of their car before finally picking the one that had their pricks standing the highest.

 

Aoi hated them even more than the fantastic world those doorways promised to lead weary travellers to.  He hated at the fact that they’d never see dirt on their skin nor have their nails ripped up from clawing at iron brackets without gloves.  He hated the fact that they came here with their money, in their cars with their willing drivers, and they paid for sex before going back to their upmarket homes and their wives and families. 

 

They bought a dream, a fantasy and then they returned to common life; a life that Aoi dreamt about while slinking through the darkness of his own world. 

 

Reality was driven home like a hammer to the hand when none of the mama-san’s spoke.  Not even a muttered word as Aoi passed, his feet dragging against the pavement and his head down.  He was just another drunk, just another down-and-out day worker waiting for the next time they hit it lucky and secured a week of employment.  He wasn’t worth their time and he didn’t deserve the shiny dreams that could offer. 

 

Another street, another corner and Aoi was sure that they wouldn’t end.  Each window held a more attractive girl, each door another place that he could never enter.  It seemed like the torment would go on forever, and Aoi was hard pressed to remember how he had gotten so far from home in the first place.  Then again, he couldn’t remember much about the day other than the want to celebrate the meagre wage sitting heavily in his pocket. 

 

He turned right under an illuminated street light then passed through the shadow of the busy highway overpass.  Here, the streets were fenced off, the pillars that held up the main road blocked by high fences and warning signs.  They worked against people like him, people who could sleep where they fell simply because they had to; people who had nowhere else to go.   The fences kept them out, kept them roaming the streets until they hit the undercover shopping mall beyond and then they were out of the jurisdiction of the local police office.  If they pissed in those streets and then slept where they fell, no one cared; but here it was a different story.  Here, lost in the bubbles of soap and the lights of love there were no prostitutes, no seediness and no gangland controlled streets; here they were upper-class restaurants.  At least, that was what the mama-sans paid people to think.  Paid money earned from their employees while on their backs and moaning. 

 

Within these streets, nothing was real.  Nothing existed in the world that Aoi did, even with his pay burning a hole in the bottom of his pocket.  He may have been drinking here, but none of these women with their fake smiles and hypocritical words would ever part him from what was hard earned. 

 

And that was when Aoi saw _him_. 

 

He stood out like a shadow in the world of the light.  Around him doors revealed their porcelain puppets, their muted shades of pink and white and tarnished innocence hazing into a blur of undistinguishable debauchery.  And then there was _him_.  So dark, so sinister; so unnatural that Aoi thought he was hallucinating. 

 

Where the girls sat sesshin on futon _he_ sat on a chair of dark wood and burgundy satin.  Every door around him showed skin and the teasing flicker of undergarments yet he sat covered, only his throat visible to those passing by.  While the girls folded their hands in their laps, their heads bowed contritely, _**he** _ sat with his head up, his eyes locking with Aoi’s; a cigarette in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. 

 

Where the girls repulsed Aoi with their replicated parody of perfection, _he_ called to him with everything that was real, harsh and true.  

 

The man was small, petite even, Aoi could tell that, but nothing about him screamed weak.  There was strength in him that Aoi knew he’d never understand; a fire in those eyes that held his gaze from under the rim of a hat.  And that was the other thing.  Just walking down the street Aoi had seen it all, from scantly clothed school girls to nuns and ninjas, but he hadn’t seen a cop.  Not with a hat pulled low over his dark fringe and lips the colour of fresh blood wrapped sinfully around a cigarette. 

 

Even the mama-san was male; at least Aoi thought it was.  Long limbs, flicked out blonde hair and more purple makeup then a confused garyu girl couldn’t hide the Adams apple and masculine hands.  In fact the man sent a chill down Aoi’s spine.  He couldn’t have been much older than the prostitute behind him, who, at that very moment let a trail of smoke blow seductively past his lips, but he looked it.  Withered and past his prime; used up and gaunt and prone to hiding the tolls of his life behind too much makeup and a lopsided grin. 

 

When he spoke, it removed all gender doubt that Aoi still harboured. 

 

“You interested?”  The blonde’s deep voice had a gravelly rumble to it that had nothing to do with the way he unfolded himself to stand.  His height was impressive, a good few centimetres over Aoi’s own and his voice deeper by more.  He walked to Aoi, stepping out of the confines of his home – his brothel – a practice that was never done. 

 

“Ah, I, umm… I mean… ah, no.”

 

“Did ya actually look at ‘im?” the man asked and Aoi was hard pressed to wonder how someone with such a feminine face could talk with such ineloquence. 

 

“No,” Aoi blurted out, his tongue tied.  He felt that saying yes would be the incorrect answer yet as soon as he saw the blonde man’s face he knew that he’d called the situation wrong.  “I mean, yes.  Yes.  I did.  I mean…” not knowing what else to say, Aoi turned his eyes from the tall ‘mama-san’ towards the seated prostitute.  Somehow, in that moment, he was able to find his voice through a sigh.  “He’s gorgeous.” 

 

“Well then…” the pimp prompted, his hand motioning towards the door and a smile spreading across his face.  It scared Aoi.  The way the man’s lips twisted up, his skin stretched to show the cracks in his makeup gave him a ghastly appearance.  Aoi felt like he was about to make a deal with the devil. 

 

“I don’t bite, you know,” a voice broke through Aoi’s paranoia.  It was the prostitute who spoke, the words were accentuated by the ding of his glass being placed on the small table next to his dark perch.  Aoi tore his eyes away from the mama-san to look over at him, the process both hard and easy at the same time.  The prostitute ignored the small ashtray on the table and instead dropped the smouldering butt into the top of his glass.  The cigarette sizzled and hissed as it died in the alcohol and _he_ didn’t even blink.  Instead he moved, unfolding himself like a snake from coil, and stood.  Even on his pedestal of a step, Aoi knew that he was shorter, smaller; far more delicate then anything Aoi had ever imagined. 

 

Yet that dark beauty came towards him, all deliberate movements and seductive actions.  He smoothed down the fabric of his pants then laced his fingers through his fishnet sleeves, pulling them down in a way that didn’t seem self-conscious but was instead inciting.  Leather gloves covered his hands and lower arms and Aoi, for all he didn’t want to think about it, wondered what the man’s hands would be like; what he would look like void of those gloves and void of a lot else. 

 

As if his silent prayers were answered, Aoi watched as the prostitute slowly, finger by finger, pulled the glove off his right hand with his teeth.  The skin revealed seemed to glow in the street lights, milky white and tight around his small wrists and slender fingers.  The dark weaves that made up the fishnet sleeves sat heavy like shadows against all that skin. 

 

He stepped down into the entryway of the homely brothel, an action that had Aoi realising that this prostitute liked to break all the rules.  Not only had he been breaking every Japanese etiquette by wearing shoes inside, but he shattered every little thing that Aoi thought he knew about workers in this neighbourhood.  The things on offer – the girls – never come into the entryway; they never allowed their feet or slippers to touch the filth trodden in by those that roamed the decaying streets at night.  Not only did this prostitute step down to the ground, all the while toying with the glove in his hand, but, just like his strange mama-san, he took one step forward, then another, then another.

 

He dropped the leather at the door and before Aoi’s heart could skip a beat, the dark beauty stopped right in front of him.  The man looked up at Aoi, his head tilted to the side in a way that showed off the pale column of his neck while accentuating the faint smirk which tugged at the sides of his mouth. 

 

With neither pause nor permission, the smaller man lifted his bare hand up, his fingers slowly – teasingly – tracing over the side of Aoi’s face.  Aoi shivered, his skin suddenly on fire.  Despite the cold he felt hot; too warm and like he needed to shrug out of his thin jacket.  The prostitute didn’t seem to notice, his attention turning to Aoi’s hair and an errant strand that he first caught then tucked behind Aoi’s ear.  Just as Aoi thought he could take no more; just as he thought he was about to combust right there on the street, the creature before him let his hand fall from his face only to press in over Aoi’s very own heart. 

 

Aoi knew it really did skip a beat, the realization bringing a flush to his face even as he continued to stare into the other man’s eyes. 

 

“You don’t want one of those girls,” the prostitute said slowly and bluntly yet to Aoi, it was the most alluring voice he’d ever heard.  When the smaller man’s hand dropped from his chest to close around Aoi’s own and gave a testing tug towards the door, Aoi knew two things.  The first was that there was no way in hell he could walk away from this, and the second was something a lot deeper, a lot darker; much like the man in front of him. 

 

Right there and then Aoi knew that the prostitute would forever be in his mind. 

 

“They can’t give you what you need,” the prostitute continued, his fingers still laced between Aoi’s own, massaging at his knuckles.  The smaller man didn’t pull away from the harshness he must have felt; he didn’t shy at the testimony of fights won and hard work proven and the calluses that lived to interject truth into the tale.  Instead, those small, untouched fingers tightened around the marks of Aoi’s past and the prostitute – the god in front of him – looked back over his shoulder, his lips dark and his eyes darker as he led Aoi towards unknown promises. 

 

Unbeknownst to him, Aoi’s other hand reached out to take one of those perfect hip bones in his grasp. 

 

“Hey!” the mama-san called; Aoi only stopped because the smaller man in front of him did.  “Payments up front buddy.  Especially for your kind.”  The blonde jabbed his chin in the direction of a small sign by the door, the prices printed in clear, neat handwriting.  Aoi gulped as he read what he guessed could be considered the menu. 

 

The price was steep and not just to Aoi.  Sixteen thousand yen for twenty minutes, the price rising steadily the longer the session went. 

 

Aoi fished through his pockets, pulling out the small roll of notes that marked his latest earnings and thus his life savings.  His fingers fumbled over counting the notes, the alcohol pulsing through his system making it awkward.  Nine thousand, ten thousand, eleven thousand and Aoi was rummaging for change before he knew it. 

 

Part of him said he was being stupid.  Why blow all this money paying someone for sex?  A bigger part of him, however, was cursing.  Cursing how much he’d drunk earlier, and the day before and the day before that.  If he hadn’t spent his money chasing the bottom of a bottle then he could have had enough yen for now. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his blurry-eyed count stopping at eleven thousand, three hundred yen.  He shook his head and dropped his eyes to the floor, embarrassed even through his intoxication.  “I can’t afford it.”  He could see the mama-san shuffle his feet and hear the annoyed sigh that passed his lips.

 

“Well then, have a good nig-” his dismissal stopped as the prostitute interrupted. 

 

“First timers discount,” the prostitute said and Aoi didn’t miss the heated look he shot the blonde.  “Fifteen minutes,” the smaller man continued, “for eleven thousand.”  Aoi couldn’t believe his ears.  His head shot up, his eyes locking onto the beautiful creature in front of him but the smaller man wasn’t paying him any attention.  Instead he was glaring his pimp down, his hip jutted out and his arms crossed. 

 

The two men stared at each other, silently battling and Aoi felt like he didn’t exist. 

 

Finally the pimp broke, his eyes rolling heavenwards and his hand shotting out towards Aoi expectedly.  “Guess it’s your lucky night.”

 

Aoi handed the notes over with a small nod, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.  Something about the way the mama-san flicked through the notes and counted the smaller coins had Aoi on edge, as if the man was going to throw the money to the floor and claim it wasn’t good enough.  Yet he didn’t; instead he merely nodded his head then turned back to the door, sitting on his little stool, still as a statue.

 

A warm hand closed around Aoi’s again and Aoi let himself be led, first to a place to take off his shoes and exchange them for slippers and then towards a flight of stairs.  The smaller man in front of him pulled him along, his hips moving in all sorts of sinful ways as he mounted each step.  Aoi couldn’t stop staring nor could he stop his free hand from once again returning to where it had rested before, snug and squeezing at the man’s waist.

 

He made it to the top of the stairs, even to the threshold of the bedroom door before he staggered.  The adrenaline that had seen him being won over and parting with his money wore off; giving way to that hazy sense of drunkenness that he lived with every day.  Still, the switch made it impossible for him to keep his feet and if it wasn’t for a pair of small hands and a low shoulder to lean on, then he knew he would have fell. 

 

“You had a bit to drink, huh?” the man asked.  It wasn’t reprimanding or judging; just a statement that was almost laughed out as he struggled to keep the taller construction worker on his feet.  Aoi wondered if he could smell it on his breath, all stale and sticky, and then chastised himself for his idiocy.  Of course he could smell it; the prostitute had to have known that he was drunk the moment he approached him in the street. 

 

“Yep,” Aoi slurred.  Now that he was here, now that he had walked across that threshold, up the stairs and into the private room of a whore, Aoi felt like he was starting to fall back into intoxication.  Where before he had sobered at the way the man had moved and spoken, at his actions and smiles, now Aoi was nervous, his alcohol infused blood pumping through his system marking him as clumsy and shy.  “Thanks for that, down there.”

 

If Aoi had been expecting any words of comfort or endearing sentiment then they didn’t come.  “It’s only business,” the prostitute said while closing the door, “and it’s been a quiet week.” 

 

“Oh,” Aoi said dumbly as he looked around the room.  It was small but then everything in this area was, even by Japanese standards.  There was a futon in the corner, the bedding looking clean and fresh.  A small night stand was next to it and an equally small lamp cast golden light into the room.  There wasn’t much else to the place; a table here, a cabinet there and a rather extravagant armchair in the corner.  Aoi wondered what that was for and then promptly stopped his mind from wandering too far. 

 

“What’s your name,” the prostitute asked softly.  Something about that tone was soothing, like the man before Aoi could calm a raging beast with just the sound of his voice. 

 

“Aoi,” he said and from that point on, Aoi knew that his voice would always sound rough and haggard to his own ears.  Nothing like the gentle yet simmering tones of the beautiful man before him. 

 

“Okay then, Aoi,” the smaller man continued.  He stepped in closer, cornering him against the wall and Aoi could feel his warmth, felt a sense of human radiance that his general appearance did not reflect.  “Ground rules.” 

 

Aoi had never known a prostitute to have rules to their engagements, but then, honestly speaking, Aoi had never known any prostitutes.   So who was he to judge?  

 

“No cameras,” the man before him said and all the while his hands moved, caressing over Aoi’s shoulders and arms.  “No calling your friends in on a double deal,” and somehow Aoi’s jacket fell from his shoulders, the cheap, worn material pooling at his feet as the beauty before him moved.  “And finally,” the prostitute said, his lips pursed in thoughtfulness as his fingers found the coarse buttons of Aoi’s shirt, “I don’t kiss, and no amount of money will change that.

 

“Can you follow those rules, Aoi?” the prostitute asked, his head down but his eyes up and burning into Aoi’s own.  It highlighted that sinister presence that Aoi had noted the moment he first laid eyes on the man.

 

Aoi nodded.  He understood and he didn’t care.  He didn’t have a phone to take photos of the other man even if he had wanted to.  Which he didn’t, the very idea of that turned his stomach more so than the fact he’d just paid someone to sleep with him.  Friends were few and far between and Aoi had never been one to contemplate the idea of sharing such an experience with one of them and as for the kissing; well, he could deal with that too. 

 

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” Aoi breathed out, hardly aware of his own words.  Yet the man in front of him smiled, the expression dark and wild and for better or worse, Aoi was sure that the prostitute could see inside his mind.  Could read all the thoughts in his head and that made him shiver at the prospect. 

 

“I didn’t think so,” and fucked if those words weren’t breathed out right against Aoi’s skin.  “So, Aoi,” the prostitute continued, “Aoi- _saa-ma_.  What do you want?” 

 

It was stupid and Aoi wanted to bang his head against the wall the moment the words came out, but right now, with the gorgeous creature in front of him, no money in his wallet and too much sake burning a hole in his stomach the first thing that came to mind, and was thus said, was, “can I bum a smoke?” 

 

The sound of the prostitute laughing had Aoi’s head spinning.  It was such a genuine laugh, so natural and true.  Even the way his eyes lit up and his lips pulled back to reveal straight white teeth spoke of honest mirth. 

 

“Not quite what I meant,” the little man said.  Still, he stepped away, heading to the small nightstand and Aoi saw him come with a smoke and a lighter in his hand.  “But fair enough; I’m here to please.”  He held the cigarette out to Aoi then flicked the lighter to life, lighting the tip for Aoi like a suave gentlemen in an old gangster movie.  What happened next took Aoi by surprise.  A small fist balled in the front of Aoi’s shirt and, with surprising strength, the prostitute pulled Aoi from the wall and led him across the small room.  Aoi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his back hit another wall.  It felt exactly the same as the last, just as their positions were a mirrored image of across the room.  The prostitute smiled, his eyebrow lifting as his eyes trailed down and to the side, “just try not to burn the place down…”  Aoi followed the other’s gaze, noting that he was now near a high bench, and saw the black plastic ashtray sitting on the surface. 

 

“I’ll try,” Aoi promised as he raised the cigarette to his lips again.  He breathed in the soothing nicotine, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.  In his rapture he didn’t even notice the other man move until he felt his physical touch at the waist of his pants. 

 

The smaller man made quick work of unbuckling his worn, cracked leather belt.  If the state of Aoi’s clothes bothered the prostitute then it was never made obvious and for that Aoi was more than thankful.  Once the belt was undone there really wasn’t much holding Aoi’s old pants up; they slipped off his hips without the prostitute even tugging.  His boxers followed shortly after though Aoi was too lost in the moment and the rush of nicotine to his system to understand how the other had pulled them off so easily. 

 

Keeping his eyes on the beauty in front of him, Aoi watched as the man ripped open a condom packet and took the latex in his hand.  Stepping in close, the short prostitute sent a shiver down Aoi’s spine as his head ducked low and his tongue trailed a wet line up Aoi’s throat, all the way to his jaw line. 

 

“Oh god,” Aoi panted only to have the idea of words stolen from him.  In that moment the prostitute’s hand found his hardened cock, those slender fingers wrapping around him confidently before giving a small tug.  Aoi jerked, his shoulder blades tensing and bouncing him off the wall.  He felt his face contort, his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

 

When was the last time he’d felt anything other than his own hand?  Even he couldn’t remember that. 

 

“Relax,” that smooth voice whispered into his ear and Aoi felt the soft stickiness of lip-gloss being left behind. 

 

It was bound to be over quickly, the prostitute’s hands soft and warm against Aoi’s flushed skin and for his part, all Aoi could do was moan.  Each stroke of the other’s hand had Aoi’s blood pumping in a way that he had never experienced before, each flick of his wrist had Aoi sure that he was about to crumple, his knees giving way to the desires of his body.      

 

“Is there anything you really want?” red lips whispered right next to his cheek.  Aoi was sure he could smell the scent of flowers, as if that gloss could encompass all. 

 

Aoi could think of a world of things and yet nothing at the same time.  His mouth opened, his eyes still closed and for a moment he just stood there, raptured.  He tried to think of what he wanted, what he needed; what he had expected to get the moment he’d seen the prostitute smoking in that doorway.  But nothing came to mind, not even a reason as to why he had parted with all but three hundred yen just to get into this room, into this position and situation. 

 

Blind to the world, Aoi felt movement; almost flinched when the prostitute locked his hand around Aoi’s wrist.  Yet he let the other manoeuvre him, giving himself over fully to the other’s control, and was rewarded with his hand rising to his mouth, the prostitute guiding that lit cigarette in between his lips.  Like a child being spoon fed, Aoi breathed in deep and felt his head spin. 

 

It was glorious. 

 

He bucked his hips, his cock throbbing as the man rolled the condom on him.  Aoi wasn’t conscious enough to appreciate the fact that at least the place was safe and clean; instead he whimpered at the idea of losing the sensation of the other’s skin against his own. 

 

It was short lived disappointment.  Even with his eyes squeezed together, Aoi could sense the other moving, sense his presence disappearing from around his face and hear the rustle of fabric against tatami mats as he dropped to his knees.  Forcing his eyes open, Aoi drank in the sight of the beauty before him, on the floor in front of his cock and licking his glossy lips in preparation.  It was sinfully beautiful.  The other man so contrasting in dark and fair skin with crimson accents and clear eyes.  And there was Aoi; he could see down his body and see his ratty shirt, see the marks of dirt and bruises on his legs from a hard days labour, and between them there was the testimony to how alluring he found the kneeling man. 

 

If Aoi didn’t already have a cigarette and more booze in his body than was healthy, then right now he would have really needed a drink and smoke. 

 

When those sinful coloured lips slid down him, Aoi knew that nothing in the world would ever feel good again.  Eyes fluttering closed, Aoi let his head thud back against the wall, his face turned towards the sky as if praying to some god to give him strength; to not let this end oh so quickly. 

 

He tried not to think, tried not to focus on the here and now.  Taking another deep draught of the cigarette, Aoi closed his eyes and gave himself over to the moment.  The man’s mouth felt amazing, his tongue talented in a way that threatened to blow Aoi’s mind.  But of course it was; the man on his knees before him was paid to do this so it would be worrisome if he was lacking skill. 

 

And that was the very thing that Aoi tried not to dwell on. 

 

Instead he gave his mind over to the sensations, smoke trailing from between his parched lips.  The feeling of the prostitute’s hot mouth engulfing him whole melded with the coldness of the air when the man moved back, allowing his tongue to lick and circle the head.  Back against the wall, Aoi balled his fist, his nails biting into his own palm, not trusting himself to reach out for the other man. 

 

Stubbing the butt into the ashtray, Aoi looked down and groaned out loud.  There was something so overwhelmingly sexy about the way the dark beauty knelt as he pleased him.  The way his head moved back and forth, his lips stretching to accommodate Aoi’s girth and his eyelashes dark against his flushed cheeks.  It was the hottest thing Aoi had ever seen. 

 

Finally losing his restraint, Aoi’s hand snapped down and tangled in the other’s hair.  He tried not to twist the strands too harshly but even that consideration couldn’t stop his hips.  They bucked forward, rocking at a punishing pace as he all but held the other’s head still.  The prostitute didn’t rebel, didn’t protest or struggle.  If anything the other man encouraged it, his hands pulling at Aoi’s bare hips and urging Aoi’s pace faster. 

 

“Look at me,” Aoi croaked out.  Any idea of sounding commanding and dominate fled with the words.  They were choked and harsh, burnt from nicotine and too much liquor.  But still, the prostitute did exactly as he was told, his eyes flashing open as his head angled up. 

 

It was when their eyes locked that Aoi lost all self-control.  His hips snapped forward at a gruelling pace, the prostitute’s mouth hollowing out and his throat relaxing to accept the punishment. 

 

“That’s it,” Aoi muttered to himself.  His hand twisted in the other’s hair just that little tighter and he felt the abuse returned in kind as sharp nails sunk into the back of his hip.  Still, the smaller man didn’t move to stop him; instead he pushed his head forward, pinning Aoi’s hips the best he could and swallowed.  Aoi felt his length graze the back of the man’s throat and, as if that wasn’t enough, he felt that damn skilful tongue press up against him, pushing in on the throbbing vein of Aoi’s cock.  A strange sound filled the room, one that Aoi was intent on ignoring until he realised that it went part and parcel with the feeling around his length.  The prostitute was humming, setting his tongue almost to vibrate as if he were rolling those annoying ‘Rs’ that popped up in the English language and fuck Aoi sideways if it wasn’t the best thing he’d ever felt. 

 

“Fuck!” was the last thing that Aoi managed to choke out before everything seemed to come shattering down.  His hips jerked, the muscles of his legs seizing.  His breath caught in his suddenly dry throat and somehow the room seemed to grow blindingly bright while being plunged into utter darkness all at once.  He felt his cock twitch, the build-up of pressure subside and Aoi’s hands were tearing at the prostitute’s hair, his mind utterly convinced that the strands between his fingers were the only things keeping him standing.  That and small hands that pushed his hips against the wall and a warm body that all but hugged his buckling knees. 

 

Panting and spent, Aoi slumped against the wall, his head thudding back with enough force that he knew he’d feel it after the hangover.  He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate and hell, maybe he was starting to sober up, but he was torn between needing water and needing a shot.  His stomach churned, wholly unpleasant but not in the way that had him retching. 

 

What was driving him insane was the fact that there was a ringing, a constant, annoying and droning sound echoing in the back of his mind.  Aoi grunted at it, hating the way it reverberated through his foggy mind. 

 

“Aoi?”  Hearing his name felt weird, felt alien while lost in his own world.  Still, he managed to crack an eye open, the light of the room scorching and found himself face to face with someone he was sure he had just imagined.  Pale faced yet flushed with eyes darker than Aoi remembered, the prostitute’s hair was a mess and his blood red lipstick smeared in perverse testimony of what they had just done. 

 

The next words to come out of the smaller man’s mouth were gentle and caring; at least that’s what Aoi’s pleasure filled mind told him.  “Time’s up,” the prostitute said, his thumb first wiping at his bottom lip and then disappearing between both.   Aoi was sure that he had never seen a more erotic sight in his entire life. 

 

It brought the world crushing back down around him and reminded him where he was.  In a brothel with his pants around his ankles and with a lipstick covered condom hanging heavily from his cock. 

 

“Aoi?” the smaller man asked but Aoi didn’t hear it; didn’t want to hear it.  He pushed away from the wall, almost tripping over his own pants.  The condom slipped off him with a wet splodge; he ignored it as he pulled his boxers and pants up with one hand while the other yanked at his belt.  He did that up in no time, the buckle fastened loosely around his hips and he covered the room in three long strides.  He scooped his jacket up from the floor and made for the stairs, not even bothering to put it on. 

 

He took the stairs two at a time, marvelling at the fact that he didn’t fall and eat shit and never once looked back.  Once he hit the front room, he kicked the slippers off his feet hastily and stepped into his worn work boots.  The mama-san gave him a questioning look but didn’t say anything; he just sat there with a glass of bubbly wine and watched Aoi go. 

 

Once onto the street Aoi felt better.  He could breathe out here and the cold air helped to extinguish the burning of his skin.  Still, he felt queasy and uneasy, his steps uneven and staggered.  He almost tripped rounding the corner away from the strange place, feeling that the street would never end.

 

Turning another corner Aoi stopped and ended the night right where he started.  His arm around his middle, his hand supporting him and his forehead pressed against cold bricks as he threw up.  Deep down he knew that he would never be able to tell if it was because of the alcohol or the fact that he had just paid someone to suck him off. 

 

He hadn’t even asked for his name.


	2. Retribution.

# 2\. Retribution.

_In its exclusive secret room I bought spring.  What, what an idle dream that was._

 

 

The rain cooled his flush skin, the burn of alcohol setting his blood to steam. 

 

Aoi turned his head towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the water wash over his grime smeared face.  It trailed down his throat, the drops full and dark as they disappeared in the folds of his loose jacket.  Sighing out loud, Aoi felt free, the weather and the whiskey mixing to heighten sensation. 

 

Opening his eyes he looked at the sky.  The clouds twisted and churned like dark waves, the pale light of the moon breaking through, red hazed and dull.  It reminded him of a painting of hell and without thought or notion of consequence, he stretched his arms outwards, his hands reaching toward the cooling rain.  For a moment, just a split moment, he felt as if the water could wash away his sins and cleanse his soul. 

 

But nothing could save him.  Not now, not ever and deep down he knew that.  There were no heavenly handouts for those like him, no pardons or redeeming moments.  Just endless days that followed and mocked the ones before. 

 

Dragging his wet hair back, Aoi fastened it into a messy, high ponytail.  His fringe fell in front of his eyes, rain slicked and heavy and Aoi licked his lips dry.  His knuckles throbbed, the blood blending to nothingness with the rain while the open cuts cried out in protest.  Yet all the while his anger subsided.  It simmered down to a bubbling residue of what it had been. 

 

He didn’t know what had come over him.  Some would say that the whiskey was in and the wit was out, but Aoi knew better.  Anger was a fickle thing and Aoi had never been good at roping it in.  Ever since he was small he’d had too much bark for his own good and it only served to get worse the older he got and the more he drank. 

 

So when that suit, the last remaining tourists lost in Aoi’s domain, had scoffed at him, his shoulder smashing into Aoi’s arm, Aoi had lost it. 

 

He should have been used to it, should have been able to keep his cool and stumble on, but something about the way the man had jeered at him, a single dimple showing on one side of his face, had set Aoi’s insult to rage. 

 

The man had sworn and shoved and Aoi had turned and cracked his fist against the other’s face.   His left hand had grabbed the man’s collar and that fist, the right hand of striking justice, had pounded into the other’s nose and mouth.  Once, twice.  Three times and then Aoi kicked the suited shit away, a snarl on his lips. 

 

It was over in an instant, the suit screaming out while stumbling back with a spray of blood.  Aoi had felt alive right then and there, more so then he had in a long time.  Everything in him had wanted to pursue that feeling, to hit again and again until he felt the world’s axis had been righted, until he was sure that he had dished out as much as he had ever received.  But the man was down for the count, his hand wrapped around his nose in a way that hid that single dimple which had infuriated Aoi so much.  The shock on the strangers face gave Aoi reason to pause and that one thing had been his saving grace. 

 

Anger still hot in his blood, Aoi felt what he had become.  A demon.  A stranger walking the streets looking for trouble just to pass the time.  And that dimpled fool had just enlightened Aoi to that inner beast. 

 

There was no point in driving the truth home with another hit.  No point in kicking the man while he was down; how many times had someone done that to Aoi?  The truth was countless but the reality was clearer. 

 

Aoi didn’t want to become what the world wanted him to be. 

 

In Kamagasaki one thing and one thing alone was expected.  If you picked a fight with one of the locals then you went down.  You disappeared in a world of pain and humiliation and someone got your wallet.  They left you to crawl.  In that dark corner of Osaka, the homeless were the law and they ruled with an iron fist. 

 

But Aoi hated it.  He always had.  He hated the labels that had been dumped on him since childhood; the taunting at the schools and the shifty looks as he walked down the street.  In this area everyone was poor but even they looked down on Aoi and his kind.  They were the rotten apples, those that even the underprivileged could poke fun at or whisper about how uncivilized they were. 

 

Labels and stereotypes dominated his world and in that moment, with blood on his hands and teeth marks lacerating his knuckles, Aoi remembered how he had never wanted to be a part of all that shit.  He was here because he had nowhere else to go, not because he was unfit for society. 

 

So Aoi had walked away, his shoulders curled against the rain that slicked his hair to his neck.  He ignored the looks, ignored the taunts from his neighbours calling him yellow and unable to finish what he had started, and moreover, he ignored the hiccupped gasps of the suit and the scuffling of his feet as he dragged himself away. 

 

 _They_ came and they took things from Aoi’s world.  People with money enough to afford the little luxuries walked the streets of a morning, buying and bartering and cheating deals from the thieves who displayed their goods for sale.  Those with homes and TVs walked the streets of Aoi’s world during the daylight hours, desperate for a thrill and the promise of imaginary danger.  They used light as their shield, their cameras out as they snapped images of a life they’d never have to suffer.  The man passed out in the gutter, the group huddled around a fire they’d toiled and struggled to build, fighting off the last of the nights chill; the drunk who staggered down the road, his eyes squinting against the morning sun.  They captured those moments on their DoCoMo phones and laughed to their friends about how strange the whole experience had been, never once thinking to feel or sympathise with those whose images they stole.   

 

Yet as soon as the sun went down, they disappeared, taking their cash and their wild fantasies back to their designer driven lives.  They didn’t stick around to see the life of the area, to see the real danger that came lurking out of the darkness of night.  Instead they took their mediocre experiences into the warmth of their lives and forgot about it the moment they were under the neon lights of the city. 

 

It made Aoi want to take something from them. 

 

Standing in the rain, he trailed his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes until they blinked bloodshot and painful against the water and the night sky. 

 

And so the second time Aoi walked that street his feet carried him forward with a purpose.  His eyes never once strayed into the doorways on either side of him.  The second time Aoi walked that street, he knew exactly where he was going and why.  He needed something familiar, something known and understood and something that wasn’t there to be had for him and his kind.  He wanted something that belonged to _them_ , something that dimple faced man in a suit would have been able to take on a whim. 

 

What had come first, Aoi would never know.  His feet were moving and his mind seemed set to purpose but he didn’t understand where he was going until he saw that streetlight.  It glowed in the darkness and the rain, the light flickering through the falling water in a way that made Aoi feel like it had been waiting for him. 

 

The second time he saw that nameless man, Aoi felt his breath catch in his throat and in an instant his anger ebbed away to nothingness. 

 

Gone was the darkness from months before, gone was the idea of a policeman with his hat low and his shirt even lower.  This time what greeted Aoi was the dream of powerful angel made flesh.  White and clean, with chains over the shoulder of his jacket and a long gold scarf wrapped around his neck.  A leopard print waistcoat paired with a hint of that black mesh that the prostitute seemed so fond of; that was what Aoi’s nameless beauty wore.  Pure, true and hard-hitting all at once; innocent with a hint of danger and a cowboy hat balancing on his knee. 

 

“Hey again,” the mama-san greeted Aoi with a tip of the head.  The prostitute looked up from the book he was so casually reading, his eyes rimmed in black and his contacts clear blue and icy.  His hair was darker than last time. 

 

A small smiled stretched across those lips and Aoi couldn’t help but smile back. 

 

“Hi,” Aoi finally said though the word wasn’t in reply.  He spoke only for the vision perched on that dark seat, for the man who closed his book without a thought and placed it on his little table, right next to his glass of red and ashtray. 

 

“Aoi-Sama,” the prostitute said and Aoi shivered in the rain at the sound of his name.  “Rain Bringer.”  The words were highlighted with a smile and a quirk of an eyebrow as the man pushed himself to his feet.  Once again he stepped down from his pedestal, his steps sure and true and his eyes locked on Aoi as if he was a hunter stalking his prey. 

 

“I erm,” Aoi started, his tongue thick and useless in his dry mouth, “I have enough this time.”  They were wooing words, said to flatter and entice lust.  Aoi almost rolled his eyes at his own damn incompetence.  He wanted to say something about how the prostitute looked; about how otherworldly Aoi found him.  How beautiful he was.  But all that came out was a drunken slur of business delivered with all the eloquence of someone lacking in the skill. 

 

“Well that’s good,” the mama-san huffed dryly.  Aoi gathered that the man rolled his eyes, maybe even crossed his manly arms over his chest, but he didn’t bother to look.  He was too entranced with the beauty stepping boldly towards him, leaving the cover of his doorway and stepping into the rain.  He wanted to protest, wanted to tell the smaller man that it wasn’t a good idea.  No one in their right mind went walking in November rain, but his words stuck in his throat as the other man grew closer.  The prostitute’s hair shone like obsidian as rain drops perched on the styled ends and those gold chains that highlighted his jacket sparkled. 

 

As he got closer, Aoi watched, rooted to the spot, as the other man lifted his hand towards Aoi’s face, his fingers pushing at the waterlogged fringe that obscured his vision.  Nimble fingers brushed the strands back, freeing Aoi’s vision and for the first time in years Aoi was sure that he could see clearly. 

 

“I think you should come inside.”  With those six words Aoi was lost to himself.  All that existed was the other man and his eyes – his lips – and the gentle feel of his hands.  Captive, Aoi felt the toils of the day and every other day that he could remember slip away to be rain-washed into the gutter.  The anger from earlier, his hatred and his need to wreak revenge faded to the point where not even the residue remained. 

 

It was like his life never existed and Aoi couldn’t have been happier. 

 

The rest was a blur.  Money was exchanged with the mama-san but all Aoi remembered was the feeling of the prostitute wrapping a blanket around his shaking shoulders.  Purchased time was reiterated but Aoi only had time for the way his dark beauty guided him out of his wet shoes and into warm slippers.  With the bargain struck, Aoi’s mind and eyes followed his prize, the stairs to the second level not even registering. 

 

The room was the same as before, that chair in the corner and the futon in the middle.  The dresser was the same, the small table unmoved.  Aoi remembered it almost clearer than he did his own home.  The door closed silently behind him and still Aoi was in a daze, lost in the ideal and the dream he had found.  It wasn’t until the prostitute came to stand right in front of him, his body that damn close that Aoi could feel his heat, that he even realised the other man had spoken. 

 

“What happened?” the smaller man repeated, his eyes dropping to look at Aoi’s bloodied hand.  He didn’t wait for an answer before reaching out and taking Aoi’s busted knuckles into his own grasp though, nor did it stop him from holding the wounds up to the light, his dark rimmed eyes searching across the broken skin.  Aoi shrugged, the action a lie within itself but somehow it seemed better then forcing untrue words. 

 

The prostitute gave him a look that Aoi knew he would never understand.  It was questioning and curious like a cat, and yet blank with indifference and the silent promise not to push the subject.  How one man could convey so many things just by briefly meeting Aoi’s gaze both baffled and thrilled Aoi all at the same time. 

 

“Here,” the other said and Aoi watched dumbfounded as the prostitute first unlooped the scarf from around his neck and then wrapped it around Aoi’s ruined hand.  The soft gold seemed to sooth the pain almost instantly, the colour hiding the horrors of red and sitting flush against Aoi’s pale skin.  The prostitute wrapped it three times then looped it over Aoi’s wrist, tying it off like a golden bracelet.  The ends fell daintily from Aoi’s fight-bruised hand. 

 

“Almost as good as new,” and fucked if the smile he gave Aoi didn’t have his heart skipping a beat before leaping up into the back of his throat. 

 

Choked and stuttering for something to say, Aoi let his mouth move without his brain.  “I never asked your name…”

 

“People who work here don’t have those,” the smaller man said.  The bite of the sad words was softened by the kind smile he offered as apology as he let go of Aoi’s hand.  “Now,” the prostitute said, “tell me what you want.” The words sent a shiver down Aoi’s spine.  How many nights had he spent dreaming about the other man asking him that?  In the confines of his ramshackle home, Aoi had lost himself to his fantasies, finding more in those moments spent with his hand and his mind then the world around him. 

 

“I want to fuck you,” Aoi stated bluntly.  There was no real point in trying to sugar coat the words.  Besides, he had a feeling the prostitute would respond better to the crudeness. 

 

He was right.  The smaller man’s face cracked into a crazy smile, the mischief dancing in his eyes and Aoi sucked in a deep breath as the man moved closer.  “More than just my mouth?” he questioned, his body flush against Aoi’s.  That warmth had Aoi reaching out, one arm circling those slender shoulders while the other locked around an even smaller waist.  He pulled the prostitute in towards him, happy with the way the younger man stumbled slightly, and breathed in his scent.  The other man smelt like spring, that alluring hint of sweetness mixed with dampened wood and green grass.

 

“Yeah,” Aoi said with a nod, his words blowing those dark strands of hair that sat so close to his lips. 

 

And in that moment Aoi wondered – really wondered – what the smaller man tasted like.  Why didn’t he kiss?  Surely he could charge a fortune to have people steal breath from between those plump lips. 

 

Maybe the other man was a mind reader or maybe Aoi had his desires written clear across his face, for the prostitute lent back in his arms, moving his face away.  His eyes flicked up to lock with Aoi’s.  “Remember my rules, Aoi-sama,” the man breathed out, those damn lips forming a sad smile even as his eyes froze over like winter ice. 

 

Aoi nodded; it was all he could do.  He was never going to get the idea of those lips out of his head.  He’d never be free of that driving want and curiosity yet as much as he had come here to take what wasn’t his to have he would never allow himself to take what wasn’t offered. 

 

“So then,” the prostitute continued, the seriousness replaced by that taunting playfulness that Aoi was quickly becoming obsessed with.  “Tell me how you want me.” 

 

Swallowing thickly, Aoi cast his inhibitions to the wind.  One last look at the creature before him had him diving straight in. 

 

“Strip,” Aoi commanded.  Maybe it was the rush of alcohol in his system but he felt that he wasn’t here, that none of this was happening.  It wasn’t an overly unpleasant thought, not when he felt that thrill of confidence wash over him.  Right now he felt as if he was still in one of his fantasies where the small man was his to command and enjoy at will. 

 

The prostitute did as he was instructed without a word.  The jacket was the first to go, the material pooling on the floor behind him as he shrugged his arms free.  Then those hands, those slender fingers that Aoi had imagined his own hand to be so many times, moved to start pulling up his shirt. 

 

There was no real show to it, no real play from the prostitute yet still each movement sent Aoi’s blood to boil.  Standing there watching the other man, Aoi found his hips moving on their own accord, lazily thrusting forward just to get the feel of his cock rubbing against material.  When that wasn’t enough Aoi let his left hand roam, pushing and kneading at his erection even as his eyes remained locked on his paid company. 

 

The prostitutes face was obscured for a moment as he pulled his own shirt up over his head.  It was tossed carelessly to the side, forgotten about as Aoi let his eyes roam over that skin.  Aoi’s own hand sped up against the front of his pants in desperation; the prostitute gave him a snide smirk as he started unbuckling his own belt. 

 

“Hurry up,” Aoi ordered.  If the other didn’t speed things up then Aoi was going to lose it before he got what he really wanted. 

 

“As you wish,” the other replied and again Aoi could see that smirk playing over those delightful lips.  He tore his eyes away from them as the sound of a zipper being pulled down filled the room.  It hardly surprised him that the prostitute went commando yet still nothing really prepared him for the sight of the other man tugging his pants just enough to have them slipping off his hips, over his thighs and then onto the floor. 

 

Each bit of skin the smaller man revealed was like art.  Flawless, pale and ethereal.  All things that Aoi never thought he would see let alone be able to touch.  His eyes travelled downwards, soaking in the sight of the other’s arousal and maybe Aoi was a fool, but he took that as a compliment.  The prostitute was as hard and ready as him, his erection standing proudly against his stomach. 

 

“Prepare me,” Aoi continued.  His licked his lip as he forced his hand away from his crotch, his eyes roaming over all that the other man was underneath his elaborate clothing choices.  Perfection.  

 

The prostitute slid up against him, his naked body pressing in against Aoi’s in a way that had his heart pounding.  Idly he wondered what it felt like to be naked and so completely at someone else’s mercy; to be pressed against a fully clothed body, all the while knowing what was going to come.

 

When those small hands made towards Aoi’s shirt, Aoi shook his head and dared to slap gently at the slender wrists.  “No time for all that,” Aoi growled out.  Call him stupid but somewhere in the strip show his fantasies had changed.  Now he wanted the man bent over before him and Aoi wanted to take him clothed; fully showing his control.  Fully claiming that thing that should never belong to him. 

 

The prostitute smirked and raised an eyebrow at the order and Aoi had the funny feeling that he could read minds.  Or maybe it was desires.  Either way the smaller man got straight down to business, his hands drifting to Aoi’s belt.  He pulled it open with ease, much like the last time Aoi had been in this room that felt so secret, and then made quick work of Aoi’s top button.  He pulled the zipper down with his eyes locked with Aoi’s and Aoi silently cursed the moment the prostitute took to lick his own lips. 

 

The young man took Aoi’s cock in his hand, his fingers wrapping around the swollen length and giving a series of small strokes.  It was enough to have Aoi on fire, withering till the point he was sure he was about to combust.  Eyes falling shut, he thrust forward, enjoying the warmth and touch of someone else.   He heard the rustle of foil and just like before, the prostitute rolled the condom on in a way that had Aoi bucking into his hand, his need becoming too great to keep still. 

 

“Like that, huh?” the other breathed against his ear and all Aoi could do was grunt, his hands shooting out to close around the other man’s hips.  The gold scarf melded with the prostitute’s skin, binding them together like some play on the strings of fate.  For a very small moment Aoi wondered why the scarf wasn’t red. 

 

And once again the object of his desire licked his lips and Aoi was sure his mind was about to explode. 

 

Sense and reason lost, Aoi’s hands tightened before he turned the man around and walked him three steps forward.  There he pushed him roughly over the dresser; anything to get the sight of those sinful lips away from him.  The prostitute seemed to like that, his response coming as a breathless laugh as his fingers clutched the side of the table. 

 

Aoi wondered how it looked.  That perfect being bent over the table, naked as the day he was born with Aoi behind him, clothed apart from his cock that jutted proudly from between his fly.  It was somehow ridiculously erotic in a downright dirty sort of way. 

 

His body didn’t let him wonder for long, not with the other splayed out and displayed before him.  One hand gripping at the other’s hip, Aoi took the base of his cock in his free hand and guided it to the prostitute’s entrance.  Any idea of foreplay was well and truly lost on him other than a few teasing rubs of the head of his cock up and down the cleft of the other’s arse.  After that Aoi gave himself over to what he really needed. 

 

Aoi pushed his way inside in one rough thrust, feeling the heat of the small man surround him.  Part of him wanted to be gentle, to take the other man how no one else would a prostitute.  Yet need and alcohol and far too many lonely nights dictated his movements towards the contra.  The moment Aoi was sheathed inside, he lost his control.  Ideals and notions of a gentle, slow pace all but forgotten, Aoi pulled his hips back, groaned out loud at the friction, and then sent them slamming forward with enough force to rattle the dresser. 

 

The prostitute groaned, his legs buckling and his knees hitting the drawers, but he didn’t protest.  Aoi saw his knuckles turn white where they gripped the sides of the wood. 

 

“Sorry,” Aoi breathed out, his mouth all but swallowing the other’s ear.  He forced himself to pause, to give the other a moment to adjust no matter how much it killed him, yet apparently the prostitute had other ideas. 

 

“Keep fucking movin’,” he ordered.  If Aoi had needed any more inspiration then it came from the way the other man shifted under him, his hips snapping backwards to drive Aoi’s cock in further; harder. 

 

Taking that as all the encouragement he needed, Aoi threw caution to the wind and let himself go.  Let the feeling of taking something from that world of neon lights and suits and taxis wash over him and gain control. 

 

He never wanted to hurt the smaller man; Aoi had a temper and he could be a fighter when pushed, but he never sought to hurt the innocent or want to pain those that had been kind to him.  Yet still the other man seemed all too happy to take the brunt of what Aoi had to give – what he needed to expel – and so he found himself driving forward again, this time with enough force that they both rocked forward.  The dresser rattled against the wall and Aoi pulled back, fully slipping out of the smaller man and then drove home again, relishing in the sound of the hard wood crashing against plaster.  His fingers bit into the other’s hips, holding him in place and keeping him upright and each time Aoi thrust forward, he yanked the other man back towards him, driving his cock deeper and deeper each time. 

 

The prostitute cried out and Aoi could just picture the way his white teeth would be sinking into his full bottom lip.  That mental image fuelled him on, his hips setting a punishing pace as the past months of fantasies started to become real. 

 

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, melding with the heavy breathing that Aoi knew was coming from him.  The man moaned beneath him, his breath catching in his throat in time with Aoi’s thrusts.  Lost in the pleasure, Aoi barely noticed the hand that slipped off the table to travel south.  It wasn’t until the other man’s breathing became more and more erratic that Aoi even realised that the other was jerking himself off in time with Aoi’s thrusts. 

 

Something about that made Aoi rebel. 

 

Aoi had never been one to assert his authority and he was never in the position to deny pleasure even if he had wanted to, but the idea of the object of his affection fending for himself didn’t sit well with him.  Prostitute or not, Aoi wanted him to feel the things he gave to Aoi, to share in the pleasure that Aoi found in the younger man. 

 

Pulling the other’s hand away by the wrist, Aoi replaced it with his own.  His reward was the smaller man letting out a strangled cry, his back arching as his head dropped forward to thud rather loudly against the wall. 

 

Stroking the other’s cock with one hand, Aoi let go of the smaller man’s hip and trailed his hand up the arch of the other’s back.  That gold scarf followed, rippling over pale skin like water.  Taking the man by the back of the neck, Aoi pushed his head forward, keeping him down and flat against the dresser as his thrusts became more and more erratic.  Once he was sure the prostitute understood how Aoi wanted him, he moved that gold-lined hand down, running it over the other’s hip and down the back of his right thigh.  Aoi could feel the other react to the touch, his skin goosebumping and his muscles twitching.  Smiling to himself, Aoi threaded his hand between the other’s legs and gently pulled the prostitutes right leg up, lifting his foot off the floor.  It left the other man balancing on one foot, both his hands once again wrapped around the edge of the drawer to keep himself stable.  Aoi lifted his leg high, parting the globes of the others arse so that Aoi’s thrusts could reach deeper still. 

 

With the new position, Aoi thrust his hips forward roughly, the action being met with yet another startled cry from the man beneath him.  Aoi knew he could get used to hearing that. 

 

The rest was a blurr.  From the start Aoi knew he wasn’t going to last long yet somehow time seemed to stop and then rewind with each thrust.  It was like reality itself was warping just for them, just to give them time together and Aoi couldn’t have been more thankful. 

 

He knew the smaller man came before him; he could feel the other’s release warm and sticky on his hand just as he could feel the other’s muscles clamping down around his straining cock.  After that it must have only been seconds but to Aoi it felt like a blissful eternity.  Each thrust and jerk of his cock feeling like the world was making up for its previous harsh treatment.  Aoi didn’t even know when he came; he knew there was white in front of his eyes and the warm touch of skin on his cheek as he slumped forward, but the pleasure blended in to the indulgence of the fantasy made real. 

 

Aoi kissed the back of the other man’s shoulders, his lips travelling up towards the other man’s ear.  He nibbled on the lobe gently, his tongue playing with the piercing he’d never noticed before. 

 

“You okay?” he whispered into the other’s ear.  The prostitute nodded, his cheek rubbing against the wood and Aoi could see that his eyes were closed.  Not pressed closed in pain or horror, but fluttered shut with his long lashes splayed out across his cheeks. 

 

Pulling backwards, Aoi slipped out of the other man and took a step away.  The moment he did he wished he hadn’t.  His legs shook, his pants catching at his ankles and making him clumsy and, above all, he instantly felt cold when away from the others presence. 

 

Aoi went to remove the used condom only to have the smaller man beat him to it.  Such a small action should have seemed all business, but the other had a way of doing things that made Aoi forget the exchange of services for money.  Shaking and spent, the smaller man pressed against him, one hand moving to do its business while the other snaked up around his neck, pulling Aoi down while his hand pushed Aoi’s head to the side. 

 

And then he finally felt those lips.  Not in the way that he so desperately craved, but in a way that had Aoi seeing stars.  Those sinful lips, thick gloss and all, latched onto Aoi’s throat, his tongue laving at Aoi’s sweat covered skin before that mouth closed completely, a part of Aoi’s skin – his very being – sucked into the other’s mouth. 

 

It felt like heaven and fucked if the prostitute didn’t keep sucking.  Aoi moaned unashamedly, his spent cock already starting to lift with life.  Yet still the other sucked, bringing blood to the surface and marking Aoi well and true even as the prostitute carefully closed the zipper of Aoi’s pants. 

 

When the other finally pulled back – all too quickly for Aoi’s liking – Aoi found his hand trailing up to brush against the abused skin.  He could feel the stickiness of the others gloss rimming the tender mark and fucked if it wasn’t the best sort of pain Aoi had ever experienced.  Aoi’s eyes opened, part of him not even realising that they had fallen closed, and all he could see was that gorgeous man in front of him, a wicked smirk on his lips. 

 

“A little something to remember me by,” he said teasingly and damned if Aoi wouldn’t remember that mark long after it had faded.  His eyes dropped from the other’s gaze, drinking in the sight before him; of the prostitute spent and dirtied with his own release.  It made Aoi want to take him again right there; fuck the dresser and the chair, forget about the futon.  Aoi wanted him just the way he was even if it meant having him on the floor. 

 

Not knowing what else to do, Aoi bent over and picked up the other’s yukata.  The silk felt like the prostitute’s skin; smooth and cool and flawless.  Shaking his head, Aoi flicked it out and offered to the other man. He was rewarded with a puzzled look but still the smaller man turned his back and allowed Aoi to thread the material over his arms.  Letting it go, Aoi watched as the other fully shrugged into the robe and wrapped the front flaps over each other before turning back to face him. 

 

And that was when the bell rang, loud, true and unavoidable. 

 

“Times up,” Aoi said.  His voice sounded stronger then he felt on the inside.  That bell made him want to scream and shout and beg for just a little longer, just a moment to watch the other man come down, his breathing return to normal and the flush to drain from his face.  Aoi wanted to feel that body, so warm yet wrapped in cool silk against his own just once more.  Just for a little longer. 

 

“I should give this back,” he said, his left hand moving to fumble with the knot the prostitute had tied in the golden scarf. 

 

“No,” the other said, the word so quick that Aoi looked up, almost sure he had imagined it.  But the other was shaking his head, a smile on his lips.  This one wasn’t playful or teasing; it was kind and it broke Aoi’s heart.  “Keep it.  It’s a gift.” 

 

Aoi locked their gazes, his eyes searching for anything that would tell him if the other was lying.  Truthful.  That was all he saw in the other’s expression and he wondered if that quality had always been there; if that had been what had drawn him to the other man so many months before. 

 

Nodding his thanks, Aoi whispered out a small thank you before licking his lips, his eyes darting to the door.  He didn’t know what to say and he had the feeling that the longer he lingered the harder it would be.  Not to mention that the longer he stayed the more he risked the mama-san’s wrath. 

 

With his mind drawing an utter blank Aoi nodded at the prostitute, rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and let out a small sigh as he made his way to the door.  The first step was the hardest, especially with the way his legs still shook, but the second was somewhat easier. 

 

He made it to the third before the prostitute stopped him. 

 

“Aoi?”

 

Aoi paused and turned his head, his eyes skimming up the stairs to see the prostitute standing in the doorway, both hands grasping the one side of the frame.  His body lent the same way, his head resting on the wood just above his right hand, his cheek pressed to the back of his palm.  In that one moment, Aoi thought he wasn’t beautiful. Not like he had been downstairs, or during their encounters.  Looking up at him, all Aoi saw was an attractive man with tussled hair and a weary expression.  He looked tired and, dare Aoi think it, but normal.  Gone was the illusion those dark red lights played with his complexion and his contacts, gone was the air of being untouchable and otherworldly.  Instead, there was just a man showing the signs of a hard life and looking for all the world like he had just put his heart on his sleeve. 

 

In that one perfectly clear moment of awareness and understanding, Aoi realised that he really wanted to kiss those lips.  What would they taste like?  Aoi imagined that they would be like spring, like the feeling of warmth that crept through the cold of winter’s last days.  Like the taste of falling sakura, carried on the wind that blew away the stench that stained these cursed streets.  

 

“Ruki,” the man finally said with a small shrug, as if he was trying to tell himself something.  Aoi frowned, not following where this was going and shuffled his feet on the stairs to turn fully around.  “My name,” the prostitute said, his head lifting off his hand so he could look straight down at Aoi.  “That’s my name.” 

 

All Aoi could do was smile.  Words failed him and he hardly trusted his limbs to react the way he wished.  So he smiled, genuine, true and reflecting all the things he saw in Ruki. 

 

Walking past the smiling mama-san, Aoi turned left instead of right, a part of his mind marvelling at the rainless skies.  Left led to home, led to his poor excuse of a bed covered by his poor excuse of a house in his poor excuse of a neighbourhood.  Left lead him to nothingness and loneliness, but it was better than right.  Right would take him to his vices; right would see the end of him for the night and leave him in that poor excuse of a home and that horrible bed for the majority of the next day.  While right and the sting of alcohol at the back of his throat would help the here and now, left served a purpose.  It promised an earlier start, the front of a line, and the feeling of coin in his pocket after a day’s work.

 

Pushing his hands into his still damp jacket, Aoi ignored the holes and the light feeling of his money being gone and instead smiled. 

 

He could feel a change in the weather; the night was just a little bit warmer. 


	3. Reality.

 

# 3\. Reality.

_"It's the response of happiness, but that's because it's been buried halfway underneath the ground."_

 

* * *

 

 

Ruki had been pulled out of the pages of a history book; that was all Aoi could think as he watched him bid his client goodnight.  Clad in the purple robes of an aristocrat, he offered the man a slight bow, his head lowered in a way that Aoi had never seen.  The man, a brute of a thing in a leather jacket with the collar popped and a piece of cloth around his nose chuckled in a way that set Aoi’s flesh to crawling.  Aoi watched, half fascinated and half disgusted as Ruki kept his head down and his hands clasped in front of him; contrite and submissive, even as the thug – for that was the only way Aoi could describe him – stalked away, his hands moving to light a cigarette. 

 

In an instant Aoi decided that he hated that man. 

 

Detaching himself from the shadows, Aoi strolled confidently towards the open door, drinking in the dark light and breathing in the intoxicating scent.  Ruki was there, backlit by the blood red glow of the lights, his back to the street as he fumbled with what appeared to be a packet of cigarettes.  Aoi was welcomed with the mama-san quirking his eyebrow, his lips forming a thin smile as he called for Ruki’s attention. 

 

And when that smaller man turned to look at him Aoi felt his heart skip a beat.  Ruki’s hair was wavy and unkempt, a mess of dark red that seemed to glow in the lights.  His eyes, like always, rimmed in black.  His lips were plain, lacking the bloody gloss that Aoi remembered so clearly from their past encounters. 

 

“Aoi?” Ruki said softly, his eyebrows pulled together in a way that made Aoi think that Ruki was surprised to see him.  Really?  Surely the young prostitute knew that Aoi would always come back.  The smaller man stopped his assault on the cigarette packet, the little cardboard box being placed gently back onto his table. 

 

“Hello, Ruki,” Aoi said, his voice just as low as he drank in the sight of the other man.  He watched everything, noticing the way Ruki’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the way his eyelashes almost kissed his cheeks as he blinked and the way he sent a small frowned look over to his mama-san.  Aoi saw it all and licked his lips in anticipation. 

 

Ruki didn’t flirt, didn’t tease and entice Aoi through the door but then Aoi didn’t need it this time.  He wasn’t standing there shell shocked like the first time, or drunk and riding his way through turmoil in the pouring rain.  This time Aoi was there, confident and sure and offering the smaller man a smile that mirrored the one the prostitute had used to snare him so long ago. 

 

He paid the mama-san at the door, the money heavy in his hand and his head light, before slipping his shoes off and following Ruki to the stairs.  They felt like home, like each step upwards led him closer to the only place he could exist.  The room upstairs was the same – always the same – and yet Aoi felt a sense of belonging with its familiarity. 

 

Once inside, Ruki closed the door, his bear bottom lip held between his teeth and damned if Aoi didn’t think that was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

 

“How about we turn the lights off,” Ruki proposed suggestively, his eyes lighting up in that mischievous way that Aoi liked so much.  Yet he didn’t smile, not the way Aoi did, and Aoi found his head tilting to the side in question.  There was something off about the idea, something not quite right with the way Ruki’s eyes squinted and his lips hardly pulled up.  It was fake.  Forced and fabricated in a way that Aoi had never seen before. 

 

Aoi shook his head, his eyes roaming over the sight of the other man in his yukata.  In the low light his curly red hair stood out against the purple and white silk.  “No,” he finally said, his eyes raking up the other man hungrily, “I want to see you.”   Taking the other man by the hips, Aoi walked him backwards to the futon, his eyes locked on Ruki’s lips and the pink tongue that darted out to moisten them. 

 

He helped Ruki kneel, his arms around the smaller man as he guided both of them to the floor.  Gone was his animalistic desires that had driven his actions over his previous visits.  Tonight he wanted to take things slow, to have the other man withering beneath him and calling his name.  Aoi had his own needs – he was damn horny as hell – but tonight he wanted Ruki to enjoy himself. 

 

Surely that wasn’t the typical mindset of a prostitute’s client, but right now Aoi couldn’t give a damn about that.  He wanted Ruki to lose himself in the moment and to experience even just some of the mental healing that he himself gave to Aoi. 

 

For his part, Ruki let Aoi lead, his hands holding onto Aoi’s shoulders in a way that had Aoi’s heart racing. 

 

Once on the futon, Aoi let his hands wander, moving down to the front of the other man’s robes.  He pulled slowly – gently and teasingly – at the ties holding them closed.  In response, Ruki’s hand pressed in at Aoi’s heart, an action that struck Aoi as odd and yet endearing all at once. 

 

“Aoi,” Ruki breathed, “you sure you don’t…”

 

Whatever Ruki was about to say faded away as Aoi pushed the yukata open, slipping the silk off Ruki’s shoulders.  Aoi missed the way it slithered and rippled around the other’s thin hips before splaying out across the bed. 

 

“What the fuck?”  It wasn’t a loud exclamation or a startled shriek.  Nothing more than three words breathed out slowly through the haze of shock and disgust. 

 

The bruises that marred Ruki’s skin twisted Aoi’s stomach.  Never had he seen such handiwork.  Maybe it was due to Ruki’s porcelain appearance or maybe it was just something in Aoi that refused to see anyone marked by another, but those marks made him crawl backwards.  Before he knew it he was on his feet leaving Ruki kneeling on the futon like one of those submissive girls in the doorways that surrounded them.    

 

They peppered every surface; his torso, arms and shoulders and that tender neck in between that Aoi was so obsessed with.  Teeth marks.  That what he saw.  Not just bruises but bite marks and enough to draw blood and cause scabbing; they were everywhere, even over the smaller man’s hipbones and thighs.  And then there was one practically nasty shadow of black and blue that wrapped right across Ruki’s ribcage. 

 

Aoi felt like he was going to be sick, right then, right there and in front of the very creature that made him feel as if reality didn’t exist. 

 

“You can get a refund at the door,” Ruki said bluntly, his back turning to Aoi in a way that the day-worker had never been ignored before. 

 

“I don’t want a refund,” Aoi said flatly though fucked if he knew where his conviction had come from.  He was no longer turned on at the sight of the other man, no longer hard and desperately ready.    

 

“Well then,” Ruki replied, his head turning so he could glance at Aoi over his shoulder.  The look made Aoi’s knees wobble.  “Close your eyes, let me turn out of the light and everything will be fine.” 

 

“No,” Aoi was all for the simple phrases, his mind lacking the ability to think anywhere past basic.  With his back turned, Aoi could still see the mark that stretched across Ruki’s side and maybe it was in his moment of understanding that words really failed him, but fucked if he didn’t know what had caused it.  A boot mark.  A kick, hard and brutal and sure and probably administered a few times over had caused that. 

 

Aoi couldn’t see straight.  His head was spinning, the feeling cracking him in half like the worst of hangovers or the pain that came with being days sober.  Back against the wall, that one that he had started out pressed to drunk and aroused half a year ago, Aoi slide down to the floor.  “Talk to me,” he finally said, moving to sit with his legs crossed in front of him.  His hands rested on his knees. 

 

“That’s an odd request,” Ruki replied, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  To Aoi, he looked off put, as if he didn’t know what to do with the simple request. 

 

Smiling slightly, Aoi’s head tipped to the side as he watched the prostitute.  “An odd request between an odd pair.”  He smiled at his own words; mixed with his serine body language, he wondered if he came across as wise and insightful.  With the way Ruki breathed out a small laugh, he gathered that the smaller man was thinking the same. 

 

“Okay,” Ruki said slowly.  He moved at an even more leisurely pace, collecting the folds of his robe back around him and crawling further onto the futon.  Nothing about the action was seductive, in fact, Aoi felt pained watching it.  Watching the way Ruki moved so gingerly, as if too much speed would cause those bruises to deepen and break through his bones.  To shatter him into a million fragile pieces.    

 

“What about?” the prostitute finally asked once settled. 

 

Now that had Aoi stumped.  It was such a small thing, but one that he was not at all expecting.  His dealings with Ruki had all been testimony to one thing; the prostitute called the shots.  Ruki had always been the one to entertain, to chatter away endlessly and mindlessly while Aoi stood awkward and unknowing, waiting for the younger man to guide him. 

 

Aoi wished he could have said something suave like, “anything,” or “entertain me,” but his mind couldn’t function that way.  Instead he sat there silently praying that Ruki could just start talking to alleviate the painful silence. 

 

Seconds ticked into minutes that turned into an eternity and all Aoi could do was look at dark marring light at the prostitutes throat and wonder what was wrong with the world. 

 

“You know you’re paying for this ‘talk’,” Ruki finally said, causing Aoi’s eyes to snap up from that abused body.  “Or well, the silence, at the moment, right?” 

 

Aoi nodded slowly, fully aware that he had handed over his savings at the door.  “I know.”

 

“Okay,” the prostitute said slowly, his head nodding in a way that said he wasn’t completely convinced.  Aoi watched as the smaller man gathered his robe, shrugging back into it slowly and painfully.  It pooled around his sitting form, the rich silk flowing like purple waves.  For the first time ever, Ruki looked like everyone else in this place; all fixed hair and makeup created beauty that shone out over the ugliness of life. 

 

Finally, it came out.  Like a bull aimed towards the world then stuck with a poker, Aoi broke the silence.  “What happened?” 

 

“What do you think?”  The reply was fast and clipped, Ruki’s tone aggravated and snarky. 

 

“Did someone pay to do that to you?”

 

Ruki chuckled bitterly, his head shaking and Aoi didn’t miss the way his hand tightened at the front of his robe, pulling the folds closer together.  “This isn’t that sort of establishment,” he said.  It sounded like a lie, but the look in Ruki’s eyes said otherwise.  Aoi almost believed him. 

 

“Was it the man that just left?” Aoi knew he was prying, knew that he was pressing for information that didn’t concern him, yet he couldn’t help himself.  “You were different with him; timid.  Is this the reason?” 

 

“I said this isn’t that sort of an establishment.”

 

Aoi chose to ignore the bite to the words.  He couldn’t get the look of that man with the leather jacket and the nose band out of his head, nor the way Ruki had been so diminutive around him.  It had burned its way into Aoi’s memory, scarring his mind and shattering everything he thought he knew about the man in front of him. 

 

“Who is he then?” Aoi asked and nothing could protect him from noticing the jealousy in his own voice.  It was there and it was real, pliable.  If anything Aoi wanted to believe that it was that man who did this.  It was easier that way, easier to hate him with the very core of his soul, and easier than trying to think of anyone who would willingly use Ruki when in such a condition. 

 

The answer turned Aoi’s stomach more than his own previous thoughts.  “He’s just a man who likes his whores diminished and meek.” 

 

Someone who liked them weak to the point they didn’t care if they were bloodied and in pain?  That was fucked up even to Aoi.  Still, Ruki’s words stung something deep inside him and Aoi found himself protesting once again.  “Don’t say that.”

 

“What?” Ruki asked tartly. 

 

“You know what.”  Did he?  Aoi wasn’t even so sure he knew himself.  Any time he had thought of the young man before him, the term _whore_ had never come to mind.  Stupid and hypercritical as it was, Aoi just didn’t picture the other man like that.  A whore was someone low class, someone who slept around because they could or wanted to.  ‘Prostitute’ wasn’t much nicer, but Aoi could find the differences and his mind lacked the ability to find words like courtesan or siren of temptation.

 

“Whore?” Ruki asked, his head tilting in a way that Aoi knew meant he was looking for a fight.  Aoi saw it, knew it and understood it for what it was.  A way past the pain, a way to deflect attention and, more importantly, a way for Ruki to justify and reason reality to himself.  “Is that it?  Because you know that’s what I am, right?”

 

“Ruki!”

 

“You pay to fuck me, just like everyone else, or have you forgotten that?”  Ruki was winning, his voice so flat and even and calm, and Aoi knew it.  What grounds did he have to stand on in an argument like this?  None.  He was just another man who coughed up every coin he had in order to live out his dream with someone beautiful.  “You pay to have me teasing and in control just as he pays to have me frightened and broken-in.”

 

“Stop it!”

 

“Why?  Scared of the truth?”  And there it was; the reality of the situation that Aoi just couldn’t hack.  He came here, he spent his money on an ideal, on an idea that hid the truth from thought.  He didn’t want to have it thrown in his face in the one place he could forget himself.  They said the truth always hurt and Aoi was already in enough mental pain. 

 

“Ruki…” Aoi warned, his voice dropping and his eyes hooding. 

 

“What, Aoi?  Can’t hack the fact that you’re poor as shit yet spend all your money on a whore peddling dreams?” 

 

“Just _fucking_ tell me what happened!”  Aoi snapped.  His voice was louder than he was expecting, the words coming out in a legitimate shout, his lip snarling back.  He watched the way Ruki flinched at the sound; saw the way the other actually shuffled back on the futon as if scared and while most of Aoi’s heart reached out to him, there was something else that didn’t.  Something cold and harsh inside of him kicked in as he continued, “Right now I’m paying you, the whore, to tell me what happened.”

 

Aoi hated himself the moment the words were out of his mouth.  He hated the look on Ruki’s face, hated the way the other man couldn’t make eye contact with him.  The way he looked away and up, his eyes squinting in the way that a weaker person would to fight back tears.  But Ruki wouldn’t cry; Aoi knew that.  He was too strong, too proud and confident.  Still, he looked like Aoi had physically raised a hand to him and that was a sight that Aoi would never get out of his head. 

 

For ages Aoi thought Ruki just wouldn’t talk, thought that the beauty – the prostitute – would shut himself off and remain in silence.  Aoi saw it as a challenge, saw it as Ruki defying him and testing his patience, as if he wanted Aoi to snap at him verbally and physically. 

 

But he never would.  Harsh words aside, Aoi wouldn’t move from this spot until he either got his explanation or the mama-san kicked him out on his ass.  If Ruki wanted a reason to hate him then it would have to be for his words because Aoi would never raise a hand to someone so undeserving of the harsh treatment.  

 

Just when Aoi had given up on a response and resigned himself to sitting there silently for the remainder of the time purchased, Ruki caved. 

 

“I was going home,” Ruki finally said, his voice cracking the thick silence between them.  Aoi looked up, tried to keep the movement slow and void of his surprise, but he knew he failed.  Still, Ruki continued.  “I was going home and then this.  This drunk fuck just...  Well, he came out of nowhere.  And, yeah…”

 

Aoi’s mind couldn’t understand.  Try as he might, the pieces would never fall into place.  Why would someone do that?  Why did people have the urge to take what they didn’t deserve and what was the obsession with breaking beauty?  Aoi knew he could be a jealous man – he’d spent his whole life coveting the things that others had – but he’d never lifted his hand to steal anything, and to him, beauty was something that should be hidden away and protected, not sought out and taken. 

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Ruki scoffed, his head shaking to the right in a way that flicked the messy curls of his hair over his shoulder, obscuring most of his face from Aoi.  “I sleep with people for money,” he deadpanned, “I’m rather accustomed to feeling used.”

 

“That’s not what I asked?”  The look that Ruki fixed upon him should have sent Aoi running.  It was such a stark contrast to his actions earlier, to the way he’d kept his head bowed down low and his hands clasped in front of him.  Aoi couldn’t tell which side of the prostitute was real, if either were.  After all, it was Ruki’s profession, his game, to play different roles in life. 

 

“So how about you, huh?  You wanna talk and shit, well then, what’s your story?”

 

Aoi almost smiled.  Trust Ruki to turn it all around, trust him to find a way to try and shy out of the spotlight.  “There’s nothing much to tell.”

 

Ruki scoffed, the sound bitter and nothing at all like that soothing tone that Aoi remembered from him.  In that moment, Aoi knew that Ruki was real.  Right here, right now.  All the mood lighting and the plush upholstery in the room and silk robes couldn’t hide the fact that now Ruki was Ruki; whoever that might be.   “You seem overly fond of my trivial shit, so blast me with some of your own.”

 

The flirty words were gone, the self-depreciating misery had vanished and here, this real, real Ruki wanted to know things.  His tone gave little room for objection. 

 

“I grew up here,” Aoi started slowly, his thoughts jumbled as he tried to work out where to start.  “And I hate it-”

 

“Who doesn’t,” Ruki interjected.  Aoi smiled in response to the all true statement, his eyes following as the prostitute moved.  Ruki covered himself up, obviously set on nothing happening between them and tied his robes closed.  Then he crawled forward, his movements slow and jerking as he aimed for the bottle of vodka that was on the table. 

 

“Let me get that,” Aoi waved off the other man’s effort while pushing himself hastily to his feet.  He knew it was weird, and maybe Ruki thought he’d lost his fucking marbles, but Aoi wanted the other man to just sit and rest. 

 

Aoi took the bottle and shooed Ruki back against the wall.  He poured a decent amount into one of the glasses, his eyes flicking to the spare one beside it.  “Do you mind?” he asked.  A nod from Ruki was all the assurance he needed before filling the second.  Handing the first and fullest down to Ruki, Aoi grasped the bottle and his own glass and looked between Ruki and the spot he had previously inhabited. 

 

Not knowing what else to do, Aoi shuffled across the futon and sat next to the small prostitute, his back to the wall and Ruki to his right hand side.  They both sipped at the vodka, Ruki screwing his face up at the harsh liquor while Aoi struggled not to down the soothing drink in one go. 

 

“You were saying?”  Ruki’s voice sounded small next to him, the words accentuated with a cough as the young prostitute took another mouthful. 

“I was?”  Aoi didn’t remember talking.  He knew they had fought, knew they had exchanged heated words and harsh gazes, but the moment he had found himself close to the smaller man, all that had washed away.  Drowned in the glass of his own vice. 

 

“You grew up here and you hate it,” Ruki repeated and something about that struck home with Aoi.  He knew he’d been talking – or at least starting to – but he hadn’t expected the other man to actually listen, no matter how trivial Aoi’s words.  He’d expected a clever ploy just to get Aoi to shut up with the questions and, once he started answering Ruki, for the prostitute to sink into his own thoughts to drown out Aoi’s ramblings. 

 

“Yeah,” Aoi sighed.  He tried to get more comfortable in his new position.  Just being so close to the smaller man seemed to set his skin on fire; like Ruki wielded some sort of spell over him that made Aoi burn from the inside.  “I hate it.  I want to… I dream about,” he corrected, “getting out and doing something meaningful.  Something different.”

 

“Why don’t you?” Ruki asked in a way that made Aoi stop completely.  It sounded so innocent, the words of a child asking why the world worked in such a way and yet not understanding the answer.

 

“You’re kidding, right?”

 

Ruki gave him a look that said a thousand words though Aoi swore they were in a different language and if it weren’t for where they were and who they were, Aoi was sure that Ruki probably would have just slapped him upside the head. 

 

“You think I wanna be doing this shit for the rest of my life?” Ruki asked indigently.  “You know what happens to people like me, right?  To all those doll-faced girls in their little fantasy widows of pink and bubbles?  They get old, Aoi, they lose their looks and they get too well used.  They fade away from the taxis and the businessmen and the money and end up working in poor excuses for snack bars not two streets from here.  And every night they sell cheap, nasty rocket fuel to older versions of you and if one has enough money – enough change in coins – then they take them through the back door and please them until they part with their hard earned cash.”

 

Ruki was looking at him now, his gaze feeling like it could burn a hole straight through Aoi’s very being.  “So you can have your dream,” he said, his voice wavering even as he never once looked away.  In that moment Aoi felt like he was two feet tall, deaf and dumb.  “And I’ll have my reality and my goal because I refuse to end up like that.”  Ruki looked away as his words trailed off and again Aoi was forced to admit that Ruki was real.  He may not have looked it, and that voice of his that echoed in the back of Aoi’s mind at night may not have sounded like it, but he was real, he was a fighter and, just like Aoi, he played to his strengths to get what he wanted.  The master of illusion, and suddenly Aoi was left wondering why he had walked through this unknown door so long ago.  Had it really been for the beauty sitting in the door, cigarette between his lips and glass of wine in his hand, or had it been because Ruki had silently called him; summoned some illusion of being everything that Aoi needed all because Ruki knew how to play the game and play the players.  

 

Because Ruki too had a goal and a mission and that was to take as much as he could before breaking free. 

 

Aoi was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he missed the way the other’s face contorted, missed the way Ruki wrapped his arms around himself protectively and missed the way the prostitute’s eyes finally dropped. 

 

It wasn’t until Ruki moved, his arms folding his yukata tighter around himself that Aoi snapped back to reality and became aware of the other man for what he was and not the dream Aoi had in his mind. 

 

“Ruki,” Aoi said, the word hardly above a whisper.  Hesitantly he reached a hand out, his fingers brushing the other man’s cheek. 

 

“I don’t want this, Aoi,” the other said and Aoi knew he was breaking.  Maybe it was the result of reality voiced or maybe it had to do with the marks of struggle and pain that covered his body, but right then and there and despite his strong words, Ruki wasn’t dealing. 

 

Aoi had seen it before, felt it more times than most.  When things got too hard he drank and when day after day blurred together in drunken stupor he was able to deal.  Yet when money ran out and sobriety hit like a hammer, Aoi found himself in the same position; on the floor and shaking, his mind and thoughts screaming too loud to be ignored. 

 

In those times Aoi prayed for a hand, for someone to come and brush the hair out of his face and tell him that everything would be alright.  He would have sold his soul for a pretty lie to believe in. 

 

Yet somehow he had found that.  A pretty fantasy that he could hold onto during his darkest times and right now the very embodiment of that fantasy was shattering in front of him and dragging his own lie-based reality down with it. 

 

Without thought towards consequence, he reached out and locked his arms around the prostitute and gently pulled until he was off centre.  Ruki crumpled like old paper, his body folding in towards Aoi’s own and Aoi sat true and straight, welcoming that pressure.  He pulled Ruki closer, one arm hooking the other’s legs to tangle them with his own and before he knew it, Ruki’s hands were fisted in the front of his shirt and his face buried into the crook of Aoi’s neck. 

 

And on his shoulder, Ruki broke, the tears falling silently even as his body jerked with emotion.  He wasn’t alright; neither of them were and that became even more apparent the moment Aoi wrapped his arms around the shaking figure. 

 

He didn’t know what to say – he never did – and right now words in general failed him.  What could he possibly have to say that would help the situation?  That would ease the turmoil in the other man’s head?  There was nothing.  Nothing but the soft, soothing noises Aoi made without even realizing it and the wetness that crept into his own eyes. 

 

Neither of them was alright but that meant nothing.  They were just two broken people in a broken world that the nation happily forgot about. 

 

The bell didn’t ring when time was up, nor did the mama-san come up to knock on the door.  Silence followed for hours, with Ruki’s head pressed against Aoi’s neck and Aoi’s fingers carding through his hair.  Somewhere during the evening, Ruki fell asleep, his posture awkward and his head dropping lower.  Aoi did his best to shift them both, moving so he could cradle the smaller body and alleviate the strain on the sleeping man’s neck.  Ruki didn’t move, not even when Aoi brushed at the black stains his makeup had left along his cheeks. 

 

Time passed and Aoi tightened his arms as he drifted in and out of awareness.  Nothing seemed real, not the slumbering body in his arms or the room around him, and his dreams were broken, shattering through his consciousness like glass. 

 

And then there was a voice at his ear, harsh but soft and Ruki was being taken away from him. 

 

“I think you should go,” the mama-san said softly.  He manoeuvred Ruki out of Aoi’s arms, leaving no room for protest and Aoi watched, feeling something strange bubbling up inside of him as the pimp tucked Ruki into the folds of the bed.  Aoi should have done that; should have folded him up and kept him somewhere comfortable and warm.  Safe. 

 

“I…” Aoi stuttered, his hand moving to massage life back into his shoulder.  There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask.  Why was Ruki working when he was in such a condition; did this disgrace of a mama-san force him to come tonight and sell himself just so the house would prosper?  Didn’t the blonde know or care or, even more so, why hadn’t he come and kicked Aoi out hours ago as he should have? 

 

Instead, all that came to Aoi’s mind was, “You didn’t come up when… I mean, how much do I...?”

 

“You paid at the door,” the blond replied sternly, “your contract is done, now good night.”  There was nothing pleasant about the words, no sincere feeling of well-wishing behind the polite phrase.  Yet Aoi still silently questioned.  Why hadn’t the mama-san come up hours before, ranting and raving about lost money and stolen time? 

 

For the first time since seeing him, Aoi wondered about the other’s life.  Aoi had written him off as the shrewd business man, the one out to get rich by leeching off the looks and talents of the younger man to the point he’d make him work when in such a condition.  But now Aoi had to re-evaluate.  Why hadn’t he come when time was up?  And surely he had to have known the state that Ruki was in. 

 

Maybe, just maybe he was just like them.  Broken beyond repair and yet stuck within his lot in life, struggling to get by.  Maybe he hadn’t forced Ruki to work; maybe it had been the other way around and Ruki had insisted.  A night missed was less money in the pocket and a step further away from where he wanted to be. 

 

Maybe that look Ruki had shot the mama-san at the door had been something else entirely.  Perhaps Ruki had been waiting for him, hoping that Aoi would appear out of the darkness of the night, and just maybe the mama-san had known that. 

 

“You’ll look after him, right?” Aoi found himself asking.  For the first time in his life he wanted to believe in the goodness in someone.  He wanted to know that it was there inside the harsh looking blonde and that he wasn’t going to torment Ruki further. 

 

The blonde turned his gaze on Aoi then, his eyes small in his face and darker than any night Aoi remembered.  “When the people with money leave and take their pretty promises with them; who do you think picks up the pieces?”  His full lips pressed into a tight line and much like when Ruki had told Aoi his name, Aoi saw something different in the mama-san.  It wasn’t something that he wanted to see even as the other continued.  “Now get the hell out and let him sleep.” 

 

Knowing that he would get nowhere, Aoi pushed himself to his feet, his knees creaking audibly.  As he headed for the door, he cast one last look towards Ruki.  He was still out cold, his abused body hidden under a pile of blankets leaving nothing but his unmarred face exposed.  He looked calm while he slept and Aoi couldn’t help but wonder how he could sleep so peacefully with all he’d seen and done echoing in his head. 

 

Aoi left, his head full of thoughts that he couldn’t understand and his wallet once again empty of all but two hundred yen. 


	4. Rapture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----  
> To celebrate the new OMFGAMAZING song, I got off my post-holiday depressed ass and revisited this fic. 
> 
> I then drank some wine, took some pills to help me ‘focus’ and spent the next five hours on youtube…. 
> 
> After all that though, I managed to edit, tweak, rewrite and, ultimately, finish this. The conclusion will be up this time next week! (I fucking swear it! Cross my heart and hope to die, it's actually done and you're not going to be left hanging!!!)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, also! Soundtrack additions. Hit up some Simon Curtis ([Flesh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEfKooMunLI) or [Super Psycho Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHc_j2roK1s)) or Sarah Connor's [Under my Skin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Orq_FI9h7_I) to really make the chapter pop! Possibly even some Marilyn Manson [Evidence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ff_gqtlNIhM) because who doesn’t need that song in their porn writing and reading lives?
> 
> \---

# Rapture.

###  _Happiness is invisible to the eye, there are no types, colours and flavours to it. Did you know this?_

Aoi was drunk.  He knew that.  He had the clarity of mind to recognize the problem, to feel the effects of the alcohol and also to feel that he was going to be sick. 

Shrugging into his thin coat, Aoi shivered against the night chill. 

The nights had turned cold again, the year cycling through its seasons and Aoi felt left behind, forgotten like a song of old.  The tarp over his window had ripped during the rainy season, the electrical tape now holding it together a poor fix against the winter chill.  He pulled the knots of rope just that little tighter as if they alone could stop him from freezing. 

Yet in his room there was light; hope.  It came with the flick of gold that often blew in the wind.  Soft and gentle, the colour vibrant against the blue of his world.

The silk scarf had somehow become his saviour. 

But there was only so much it could do.  Some nights it spoke to him, calming his restless soul and driving away the itch of need.  On those nights his eyes saw only it, his mind lost to his cravings and yet that scarf kept him rooted to the spot.  It stopped his mind and body from straying out into the night in search of something cheap and nasty to dull his already muted reality. 

On the nights it failed, its voice lost to Aoi’s vices, it was always there when he staggered home, the gold more alive in the morning sun.  It glittered and sparkled then, its light like a slap in the face to have Aoi lamenting all he had given away during the darkness.  Each and every time that happened Aoi found himself on the floor, his knees to his chest and his arms around his shaking limbs simply to stop his fingers from pushing down his throat.  He would look at the scarf and want to undo everything he had just done; to retch and throw up until the alcohol left his system and he could remember soft touches and warm skin.  Until he could see dark eyes and playful grins just as clearly as he could gold and blue. 

It was on those nights, those mornings that faded into the darkness of his own mind that Aoi dreamed.  Smiles and glances, voices in his head and the healing touch of a hand on his brow. 

It was those delightful dreams that he never wanted to wake from and when he did, the world was darker and sadder, the streets lonelier and the wind just that little bit colder.   

Even the gold of the scarf was dull those mornings.

\---

Days past, nights ticked steadily by and seasons changed yet again.    

Aoi counted his yen and kept it hidden away. 

\---

When Aoi next followed that dim light around the street corner, Ruki was a vision for sore eyes on his stool of black and red satin.  He was blonde again, his roots dark and the ends bleached and pushed into messy waves.  His clothes were simple in cut – nothing more than a waistcoat and an over-jacket, his pants tight and low – but the material provided his usual statement.  Black and white; fragments of faces.  Aoi saw it as all the sides of the man wearing it, all the promises he spun and all the expressions he hid all stitched into still art on his body.  They were distorted, nameless faces of sacrifice and perseverance. 

And then there were those lips, so red, so sinfully wrapped around his customary cigarette. 

Aoi stopped in his tracks, soaking in the very sight of the man he’d not been able to forget.  It was a sure step up from that feather-light gold scarf that had struggled to keep Aoi grounded during the past months.   

It had faded, the colour marred by the dirt of Aoi’s hands.  He used it like a rosary, pushing and pulling it through his fingers and counting away the minutes of the seemingly endless nights.  Words uttered in the darkness of his own mind stained the scarf, twisting it and distorting it into something black and unrecognisable.  Tainted beyond salvation. 

Sometimes he imagined what would happen if things were different.  If his hands were stained with the colour of the cloth, gold and glimmering and worth _something_.  Would the world look at him differently then?  Would Ruki? 

Reality, however, was always a cruel mistress. 

It was his lack of worth, his own filth and grime that diminished the only good he had to cling to, though part of him revelled in contaminating it the way he did.  There was power in that action, as perverse and unnerving as it was. 

And power was something that Aoi hardly ever had.

At least not until now.  Not until he saw Ruki look up at him and his face break into a smile.  There was power in that and Aoi loved it. 

He wanted to say as much, but the words caught in his throat.  Ruki had that way with people; he could steal words right out of a person’s mouth and breathe them out in a puff of cigarette smoke, all within an instant. 

Any awkwardness that could have come from Aoi’s silence was shattered the moment Ruki stood.  Like that first night, he stepped down from his chair and crossed the threshold of his domain.  He looked at Aoi like a predator; a lion stalking its prey – or maybe a cat on heat – and Aoi felt his skin tingle and burn as Ruki took his hand in his own. 

Ruki demanded with a tug and Aoi was once again powerless and unable to resist. 

The mama-san held out his hand, and Aoi emptied his pockets before giving into the insistent tug that marked Ruki’s silent command.   _Shoes off,_ it said, _and follow me_. 

Aoi did just that, his slipper covered feet shuffling on the stairs.  Aoi was starting to get used to it, starting to enjoy the small comfort that the enclosed space provided.  The stairs felt like the way home, up and up, his shoulder sliding against the worn paint and his elbow clunking against the railing.  Door at the top; Ruki’s hips backlit by the light of the room.  Aoi knew it all and in his mind, he’d walked it a hundred times.  No, he’d walked it a thousand. 

The chest of drawers bought back memories of sinful lips and nicotine just as the floor stripped the pleasure and replaced it with pain and tears. 

Aoi wondered how Ruki had fared after that night.  Had he taken more clients in the early hours of the morning?  Had the mama-san pushed him to earn his keep, or had his kept his word and left Ruki locked away in rest? 

And after that?  How many days did Ruki spend smiling and flirting through the pain?  Aoi wanted to believe that no man would get off by fucking a damaged dream, but Aoi knew the reality to be different.  He’d never been able to rid himself of the memory of the man with the popped collar, nor the way that Ruki had so meekly sent him on his way. 

Maybe, he thought darkly, business boomed after that.  Maybe people liked the sounds the prostitute made when touched too roughly, or they got off by seeing the colours of a fading bruise. 

Aoi wondered and he wondered.  Now and even back then.  He’d looked at his bright scarf and he’d asked those questions out loud, but he’d never come back.  Never called in.  He couldn’t see it for himself, not after the feel of Ruki curled against him. 

He’d also had no money. 

It was Ruki who spoke first while helping Aoi out of his jacket.  It was a notion that neither surprised nor unnerved Aoi.  Ruki always did the talking because Aoi was always drunk.  Ruki always asked the questions and Aoi was always too far gone to see the tainted degradation in them or the way Ruki’s eyes would flutter as if he could shoo away his emotions with a batter of his lashes.  

That was the way it always went. 

“I, um,” Ruki started and Aoi’s brows furrowed together.  He wasn’t used to the sound of the other man stuttering.  Ruki was always so sure, so confident every time he spoke, that this uncertainty was alien. 

Not knowing what else to do, Aoi simply brushed Ruki’s hair behind his ear and shushed him quiet.  Ruki, however, seemed to have other plans, his head shaking and his mouth setting into grim determination.  It was something that the smaller man shared with his golden scarf – neither could be silenced. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said and again it was Aoi’s turn to look confused.  “About last time,” Ruki clarified.  “It was… really unprofessional of me.  I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aoi said truthfully, his fingers toying with the ends of Ruki’s hair.  It felt so soft against his calloused skin. 

“It does to me,” Ruki replied without missing a beat, “and I’ll extend your time tonight.  Uruha should have refunded you when you left.  Or not charged you now,” he added with a dry laugh. 

Aoi hardly noticed the mama-san’s name.  It wasn’t important.  Not in the slightest and especially not when he had Ruki in front of him and looking so damn stunning.  He also hadn’t thought of the money.  He’d been saving for this, after all, and it was only fitting that you paid the reaper at the door. 

“So,” Ruki started and Aoi was sure that no lips had ever made that single word seem so alluring.  The smaller man was all flirty eyes and rolls of the tongue and Aoi knew he was in deep.  “Shall I fix us a drink?” Ruki finally finished and he moved away from Aoi without waiting for a reply.  Aoi remembered that vodka bottle from the last time.  The way Ruki had tried to reach for it, his bruised skin moving and shifting in a way that made him hiss. 

This time though, it was all sensual. 

Aoi couldn’t help himself. 

It only took two large steps for him to close the distance and box Ruki in against the dresser.  It wasn’t meant to be intimidating or frightening, and Ruki didn’t take it as such.  There was a sharp intake of breath but it was quickly followed by an oddly deep chuckle as his hand stilled just short of the glass bottle.

Aoi was expecting the prostitute to say something taunting, to laugh and ask if he was eager, or short on time or something of the sort.  It never happened.  Instead, Ruki kept quiet and while Aoi couldn’t see him, he imagined Ruki biting his bottom lip and letting his eyes flutter closed.  It was all the incentive that Aoi needed.  His hands shot out, wrapping around Ruki’s hips and he yanked the smaller man back against him quick enough to have Ruki giggle through a gasp. 

There was warmth first; that was what Aoi felt.  An overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort, and yet he still had the clarity of mind to marvel at how damn petite the other man was.  He was like a doll, all wrapped up in Aoi’s arms and with room to spare. 

“So now that you have me…” Ruki chuckled.  His hips were moving in a way that should be illegal; small, subtle little twists and rolls that shouldn’t have been able to cause the effect that they did. 

Aoi groaned and came undone.  He was through with the taunting and the teasing.  He’d waited too long. 

Pinning Ruki against him with one hand, Aoi wasted no time in unfastening the front of Ruki’s pants, the motion carried out with a series of forceful, intent filled tugs that pulled delightful little sounds from the prostitute's lips.  Squeaks and chuckles, hisses and finally a guttural moan once Aoi’s right hand forced its way down into the front of Ruki’s pants and his fingers brushed sensitive skin. 

That changed the game.  Aoi could feel it.  Power was back in his court, at least for the minute, and it was obvious from the way that Ruki’s left hand shot out, lightening fast, to grab a hold of the dresser for stability.  His other went in the opposite direction, grabbing at the back of Aoi’s right thigh and pulling – clawing – to ensure that they were flush together. 

Aoi curled his fingers around Ruki’s length a domineering, almost vicious tug. 

“It’s meant to be me…” Ruki’s words caught in a gasp as Aoi’s thumb ghosted over the head.  “Me pleasing you,” the smaller man finally finished.  His words shook, mirroring each movement of Aoi’s hand, and his damn arse was rubbing against Aoi’s crotch with each stroke.

Aoi smiled, his lips turning at the corners with an expression that could have almost been sinister.  He leant forward, looming in his darkness and height, and his lips played tricks with the hair on Ruki’s neck. 

“This pleases me,” he said by way of explanation.  And it did.  The way Ruki reacted to him, the way he whimpered, the way his cock twitched in Aoi’s hand and the way that his back pressed against Aoi.  The way he tilted his head further to the side, inviting Aoi’s face in closer.  Inviting.  Inviting.  Inviting.  Aoi didn’t need more than that, and the warmth of his breath turned into a tentative lick of flesh. 

Ruki tasted like sin and promise.  Like fine wine and red desire.  His hair was like a summer breeze, gentle but heated from the flush of his skin as Aoi pushed the waves to the side.  Pale skin and exposed throat and Aoi found his mouth to be watering at the very sight.  Vampiric and predatory, he lent down and took what was so freely offered. 

His lips touched skin, carefully caressing with each slight movement of his head.  Ruki shuddered against him, and for a moment Aoi thought they’d fall as Ruki’s weight pressed back. 

Aoi closed his eyes and imagined that Ruki’s skin was made of flawless, smooth gold.  That he was as vivid and bright as the scarf he’d once worn around his neck; that Ruki alone was the source of the light that had nursed Aoi through his darkest times.

“I want you to come undone for me.”  The words were past Aoi’s lips before he thought them over.  They clearly had a positive reaction on the prostitute though, because Ruki shivered in his grasp and pushed back against him needily.  Aoi’s hand moved faster, his fingers curling around Ruki’s length with insistent demand. 

“Please, Aoi,” Ruki begged and Aoi was sure it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard in his life.  His fingers tightened for a moment before he jerked his wrist again. 

“Please.  Not yet.”  Aoi’s eyebrow shot up.  He hadn’t been expecting that.  Ruki begging was the most erotic, perfect thing in the world, but Aoi had been expecting him to plead for more, not for time.  The strangeness of the other’s words pulled Aoi up short, and for a moment he was stuck right where he was, prone and unsure and lost.  Had he done something wrong?

It wasn’t until Ruki’s hand tangled in his hair – the action making him jump slightly – and pulled, hard, that Aoi snapped back to his senses. 

His face was yanked down against Ruki’s throat, though Ruki’s head was turned enough that their noses almost touched.  “You want me to come undone,” Ruki breathed, his words hot against skin.  “But I want to fall apart.” 

Cryptic.  Mysterious.  And yet Aoi was sure that no words had ever made more sense.  They spurred a base impulse into life somewhere deep inside Aoi, and he found himself grabbing at Ruki and spinning him around.  The temptation to smash their lips together was overwhelming, but Aoi bit his own lip and let the pain reign him in.  It was something that he had to give back though, and with a move that seemed far too quick, he had his hand buried in Ruki’s hair and his fingers twisted.  His wrist turned. 

Ruki gasped out loud and bowed into the forceful demand, his eyes locking with Aoi’s and for a moment, Aoi was sure that he was seeing nothing but the real man behind all the flirty illusions.  There was strength and power there, a devious side that seemed to be able to read Aoi’s every thought and desire, and an honest realness that seemed ill-fitted to Ruki’s profession. 

“I knew you’d understand.” 

The world shifted once more, and again Aoi knew that Ruki held all the power.  It was obvious in the way the Aoi let go of the other’s hair the moment Ruki stopped surrendering and silently demanded to be free. 

It was obvious in the way that Aoi knew he’d follow Ruki to the ends of the earth if the other gifted him just a single smile.

Aoi didn’t know how they got there.  Ruki had asked his usual question, his sinful lips curving into a smile as he asked what Aoi wanted to do with him.  Aoi couldn’t even remember if he’d spoken.  Had he voiced what he wanted, how he wanted Ruki tonight?  Maybe that was another one of those things that Ruki just seemed to know. 

All he knew was that now he had Ruki on his back with his head on the pillow he really was the most beautiful thing Aoi had ever seen.  He could remember Ruki walking backwards, all swaying hips as fingers worked on vest buttons.  Material slipped to the floor and Aoi had walked over it like it was litter on the pavement, his eyes locked on nothing but the prize before him. 

Pale and smooth.  Gold and untouched. 

And thus they were here.  Ruki was laid out before him in the way that Aoi wished only he could see, his clothes long since gone and a hint of wanton need glimmering in his eyes.  Hovering over the other man, Aoi allowed himself a moment to just look.  To drink in the sight laid out before him. 

Ruki was like a painting, something delicate and otherworldly that had survived the trials and hardship of time.  He was like one of those idols on the billboards, his eyes accentuated with a sparkle and his expression enticing.  No, maybe he was more like the embodiment of temptation from an old black and white Noir movie, his lips the only splash of colour that Aoi’s mind could register.

Aoi couldn’t decide.  All he knew was that Ruki was perfect.  The way his hair – the ends washed white blonde – curled gently against the pillow.  The way his red, red lips remained slightly parted, granting Aoi’s eyes that chance glimmer of white teeth behind.  His eyes, always so darkly lined, seemed to glow in this light, the eyeliner thick and black and shiny against his pale skin. 

“God you’re beautiful,” Aoi all but whispered, the words coming out long before his mind even had time to register, to understand that just by speaking he was ruining the silent brilliance of the moment. 

“It’s just makeup, Aoi,” Ruki said, his head shaking slightly and Aoi felt as if the other hadn’t really heard his words.  “All smoke and mirrors and illusion.” 

“No, it’s not.”  It was an easy rebuke to provide.  That wasn’t it, or at least it wasn’t _just_ about those lips and that dark eyeshadow.  There was something more. Something deeper than even Aoi couldn’t put his finger on.  But it was there; a light glimmering away in the heart of the prostitute that could blind the world if only given the chance. 

Aoi could see it, and there was a large part of him that wanted to hide Ruki away from the rest of the world.  To keep that light for himself, to keep that beauty unmarked and untarnished, and to ensure that no one ever laid a hand on the smaller man again. 

To better prove his point, Aoi’s thumb moved up to touch those illicit lips.  He’d craved the action, thought about it during every waking hour and dreamt of it at night.  Forbidden fruit.  Sin defined. 

Ruki didn’t struggle or move away, so Aoi grew bolder.  He broke the perfect line of crimson, smearing the gloss with a stroke that was almost rough before pushing the colour up towards the seam of Ruki’s lips.  The prostitute was the perfect picture of debauched temptation, his lips opening and his tongue hooking Aoi’s thumb, drawing it in before sucking lewdly. 

Aoi groaned, his arousal hardening in his pants to the point he was sure he was about to threaten the fraying stitching of the seams.  Ruki seemed to know – just like he always did – and Aoi was hard pressed to keep his concentration as the prostitute reached for his pants while continuing to suck on the digit in his mouth.  He never once broke eye contact and Aoi couldn’t have looked away even if his life depended on it. 

The pressure in his pants finally subsided and only seconds later, Ruki’s hand was there making it so much worse and yet oh so much better.  It was an erratic pace that Aoi set, his hips thrusting and his thumb pushing and pushing and _pushing_ into Ruki’s mouth and Ruki moaned and flicked his wrist in a way that had Aoi going for it again. 

Time blurred, the seconds turning into minutes, then hours and then morphing again only to stand completely still.  Aoi grunted and groaned, his cock rutting into Ruki’s hand as he dominated the prostitute's mouth with his thumb.  Ruki took everything he had to give, took and twisted it, changing it from the actions of a desperate man into something beautiful and sensual and shared between two. 

Aoi was close – so very close – and maybe it was apparent in the way that his thumb trapped Ruki’s mischievous tongue against the bottom of his mouth.  He couldn’t deal with the way the prostitute kept stroking it up and down, or the way he swirled it around with a moan and a flutter of blackened eyelashes.  It threatened to push Aoi over the edge far too fast, and god only knew that he’d allowed that to happen every time he’d managed to touch this man. 

A shift of the hips dislodged Ruki’s far too talented hand, and Aoi gave him a pointed look that told Ruki to stay perfectly damn still.  When he pulled his thumb from Ruki’s mouth, it was more than just a trail of saliva that followed.  Deep dark red smeared across flawless porcelain skin.  The trail faded to pink as Aoi dragged it down below the other man’s perfect chin to mar his throat with the shimmering colour. 

“Fuck me, Aoi.”  Of course, it was Ruki who spoke first, and Aoi couldn’t help but smile.  It seemed that the prostitute was only quiet when his mouth was put to much more pleasurable uses, though, of course, those words caused pleasure of their own. 

Aoi grunted in response while shifting his weight.  He pushed Ruki’s legs apart with his knees before getting himself more comfortable, their bodies skin to skin.  The heat was pliable; real and burning like a furnace between them. 

“Soon.”  It was as much a dark promise as it was an admittance of defeat.  In fact, it took all his will to not just cave and give into the all too obvious demand right then and there. 

But no.  Aoi wanted to take his time with this.  He wanted to feel that rush of power as he pushed Ruki, again and again, and brought him to a place no one else – no other damn client – had ever done. 

He caught the side of Ruki’s jaw with his curled index finger and flicked the smaller man’s head to the side.  The action exposed the other man’s neck to him again, and Aoi was sure he’d never get used to the sight of that tight, flawless skin.  It was such a silly thing, such a random thing to have his heart skipping a beat, but that exposed skin had his pulse racing.  Ruki always drew attention to it; Aoi had noticed that from day one but to have it right there and line free, scarf free; open and ready as if it existed for Aoi and Aoi alone felt otherworldly. 

Leaning down Aoi pressed his lips to that spot right in the middle.  He could feel Ruki’s pulse against his mouth as he stayed there, peppering the skin with tiny, brief kisses, all the while knowing that he could lose himself completely.  Ruki tasted like springtime, like sunshine and soft rain or those first green leaves to shine through after the winter frost. 

Without even thinking, Aoi nestled his hand into Ruki’s hair, his fingers massaging the back of the shorter man’s neck as he exposed more of that amazing throat.  His other hand slipped down the other’s side, caressing the soft skin before curling around a well-defined hip.  Aoi’s hand moved lower still, skimming over the curve of Ruki’s arse before catching the younger man’s thigh from behind and dragging it upwards.  The small prostitute was like putty in his hands, his head to the side as Aoi’s ravished his throat.  His knee bent as Aoi pulled at his leg, bringing it up so Aoi could press it against his own side.   

Beneath him, Ruki moaned out loud and Aoi knew that there was nothing fake about that sound.  Even the way that Ruki twisted under him, his body squirming and his back arching away from the futon.  His arms were like chains holding Aoi down, keeping him close and even Aoi couldn’t stop himself from whimpering happily when he felt Ruki’s hips shift, his leg moving to wrap around Aoi’s waist.  It pinned Aoi where he was, hovering over the smaller body, trapped between his legs and maybe it was wrong or maybe it was right, but Aoi couldn’t help but moan against the other’s neck, his hips lazily thrusting against Ruki. 

Friction.  He needed friction and, even more, he needed Ruki.  That tight warmth he’d experienced before.  Aoi needed that before he burst.  Before he combust into flame. 

Again, Ruki amazed him by reading his mind.  It was a sad moment when one of the prostitutes’ arms loosened their death grip around Aoi’s shoulders, but it was followed by the rustling of foil and a glint of teeth, and Aoi knew that what was coming would be a hell of a lot better.     

For the third time, Ruki prepared him, rolling the condom on with a deliberate curl of his fingers and tug of his wrist.  Aoi lost his head for a moment, the path he was creating with his lips getting marred with a sharp snap of teeth that had Ruki bucking wildly and muttering into the air near Aoi’s ear. 

Aoi licked and kissed the spot in apology even as he heard Ruki repeat himself. 

“Fuck me, Aoi.” 

This time Aoi couldn’t resist.  Who was he, a mere mortal, to keep denying the god beneath him?  It was blasphemous to even keep trying to delay what they both needed so bad. 

He already had one of Ruki’s knees up, so it was a simple task of grabbing the other, his fingers pressing roughly into smooth skin, and pulling it up as well.  It left Ruki trapped and prone beneath him, but, as usual, there was a smirk on the prostitutes face that told Aoi it was, in fact, he who was trapped. 

Ruki had him right where Ruki damn well wanted him. 

There was no thought of preparation or stretching, just as there was no time spent on the realization that a prostitute would have already taken care of that.  There was nothing in Aoi’s mind but the need. 

He pushed inside of the smaller man, the action neither rough nor gentle.  It was what it was.  A desperate need between two to feel something that was real.  Something that was so far out of their usual lot in life that it was almost unattainable.   

Ruki gasped and Aoi was sure it was the most beautiful sound in the whole world.  His eyes fluttered, all dark shadows and long lashes and that sinfully red, thoroughly debauched mouth was broken with straight, shining white. 

Aoi licked his lips and tried not to think about what it would be like to taste that mouth.  It was, after all, against the rules.

Distraction came from Ruki himself.  He tried to shift his weight, to roll them and take charge, but Aoi was having none of it.  The way Ruki’s hair splayed out against the pillow was entrancing and Aoi never wanted to lose sight of that image.  He liked the smaller man right there, pinned below him and with his ankles locked behind Aoi’s hips, gasping each time that Aoi took what he wanted.  Each time he gave Ruki was he so clearly needed. 

Thrust after thrust – some rough, some slow and deep, and others a blend of every feeling in Aoi’s body – drove Ruki further and further into the futon and pulled sounds that grew louder and louder.  Aoi squeezed his eyes closed and gave himself over to the sensation.  Even in his self-imposed darkness, he could see Ruki.  See the shape of him, shimmering and golden in the heart of his mind. 

Ruki was light. 

Ruki was the world.  An escape out of the darkness and the harshness of reality.  Each thrust that Aoi made was a step in the right direction.  Ruki was glowing brighter and brighter under him, his moans and heavy panting driving Aoi on, and reminding him of all the wonders the world had to offer.  The good buried by all the bad. 

Aoi could lose himself in Ruki for days.  Eternity, even.  Gone were the freezing cold mornings and the dark, hopeless nights.  The feeling of bile burning his throat, or the spin of his head while coming down no longer existed. 

To Aoi, there was nothing but perfection, nothing but deliverance and the sound of his saviour moaning his name, moaning his name again and again. 

Before silence. 

Everything Aoi had ever known was forgotten.  His life, his pain and hatred; it all vanished the moment he broke that perfect line of coloured gloss and took what he had craved so long.  Tender and gentle, he settled for nothing more than the feel of Ruki’s lips against his own.  Hardly moving, hardly breathing, Aoi felt himself crumble away and then be rebuilt as someone else.  Someone whole.    

Carefully he pushed his tongue forward, licking at Ruki’s mouth and begging entrance to the haven past those lips. 

Ruki’s heart was beating against Aoi’s chest, his arms coming up to wrap around Aoi’s neck.  Hold him closer.  Pull him in.  A show of need that greatly matched Aoi’s own as their hips kept time. 

At least that was how Aoi envisioned it. 

The reality was far more jarring. 

Ruki didn’t melt into the kiss.  In fact, he violently repelled it, and for the first time since Aoi had seen him, he was struck by just how strong the other man was.  Not just emotionally, no, this went physically as well.  Always the whore.  Always the submissive one to please and to be used.  But that clearly didn’t stop him from being perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

Aoi found that out first hand when Ruki’s closed fist connect with his jaw.  It dislodged Aoi’s lips from his – that was for sure – and it stunned Aoi senseless enough that Ruki was able to disentangle himself within a matter of seconds. 

Aoi felt cold and lifeless the moment Ruki scooted back on the futon, forcing Aoi’s cock out of him and clearly not intending it as a devious taunt. 

“Get out!”  The power in Ruki’s voice stood against the visual he painted.  Naked and debased, with lipstick smeared to his throat and precum leaking from his swollen cock, he twisted and shuffled his way off the bed, covering himself with his yukata as he went, the action of dressing himself almost violent in the way he flung the folds over each other and tied the cord. 

Aoi was still yet to move.  He couldn’t; he’d felt heaven and now the world was coming to an end, crashing down around him and Aoi was shocked still. 

“Get the fuck out!”

Speak, Aoi told himself.  He had to speak.  Had to say something.  Bring the other down and back get him calm, assure him that they’d just done the right thing together.  That it would mean more than any money ever could. 

“No… Ruki…”

His plea was answered with the horrifying feeling of air rushing past Aoi’s head.  There was a crash, loud and ear-shattering, and then wetness splashed and glass rained like fire.  Aoi cursed and smelt vodka, but at least it got him moving.  There was nothing graceful in the way Aoi clambered to his feet.  Blankets caught at his feet and his undone pants threatened to trip him.  The condom slid to the floor morosely as Aoi struggled to gather his loose trousers to his hips.

Ruki was chaos and destruction, his delicate features twisted in blind rage as he screamed.  Blankets shifted like turbulent water and somehow, Aoi’s worn jacket crashed over him like thunderous wave hitting in square in the face.  It threatened to drown him, to suck him down within the confines of his own imperfections and Aoi found himself gasping for air as he gathered the jacket in his arms. 

He pulled it from his shoulders, his mind struggling to register that Ruki must have thrown that at him too. 

“I fucking said get out!”

“Please!”

“You know the rules, Aoi.  Now GET OUT!”  The lasts words were a full-blown scream and Aoi could hear the mama-san – Uruha – come running up the steps.  Footsteps like a drum.  Bang. Bang. Bang. And still, the chaos of Ruki ruled supreme. 

With the vodka bottle now gone, the next thing where the glasses and Aoi was fast enough to duck them as they met their crushing end against the wall behind him.  Somehow he managed to get his pants down up, his arms struggling with the jacket that seemed to be all in knots. 

Ruki raged on, the vocal barrage boring into Aoi’s soul as the room flickered into a start of semi-darkness.  The lamp had been the next thing to go, overthrown by a sweep of Ruki’s yukata sleeve. 

Physical reality hit Aoi like a hammer the moment a large hand closed around his shaking shoulder.  Aoi didn’t have time to try and explain a thing to the mama-san before he felt himself being dragged, then violently shoved backwards. 

Clearly, Ruki wasn’t the only one hiding their capabilities. 

The mama-san’s fist colliding with Aoi’s nose had him spitting blood and his head spinning dangerously.  There was a fierce anger behind the hit, a sense of protective hatred that would have reminded Aoi of a loin guiding their cubs had his brain not been so rattled in his skull. 

Aoi’s back hit the wall at the top of the stairs and he breathed the blood free flowing from his nose.  Uruha had knocked him for stunned, and Aoi wasn’t sure if he was standing on his own two feet, or if it was just the wall keeping him upright.  As it was, his foot slid off the top step, causing him to stumble, but his balance was tittering on the edge of control.  For a moment he thought he was about to fall and for that moment he gave himself over to it.  Relishing in the idea of there being an end to all this insanity.  Let him fall, let him crash from these heavenly stairs and then maybe he’d never dream of walking them again. 

Yet his body had other ideas.  Impulse saw his arms shooting out, his hands slapping against either side of the stairwell and the moment he spent lingering on the point of no return vanished.  Propped up, Aoi set his other foot on the step beneath him, supporting his weight and bringing his mind back from the point of no return. 

“Ruki,” he breathed, his eyes seeking the other man out over the tall shoulder of the blonde.  But Ruki wasn’t there, not in the area that Aoi could see.  Aoi mind could fill in the blanks.  It saw Ruki in the corner, huddled and quiet after his violent explosion, calm now that Uruha was there.

Aoi wanted nothing more than to take Ruki into his arms and tell him that everything would be alright.  That no one would ever hurt him.  That they’d found each other.    

But again, reality was a harsh mistress and the deep baritone sound of the mama-san’s voice cut into Aoi’s thoughts like a knife. 

“You have one chance to walk down those stairs,” Uruha said and for the first time, Aoi saw him for what he really was.  The pimp was just a part of him; the part that collected the money and took a cut of Ruki’s hard earned cash.  But there was something else, something darker and dangerous; the look of someone who had been around and seen it all.  Who wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty for the reasons they deemed righteous.  Someone who would kill to protect something, or someone, who was close to them. 

He didn’t need to finish the threat.  His tone said it all.  Walk down those stairs or I’ll push you.  Leave or I’ll remove you.  Come back and I’ll kill you.  Aoi heard it hard and clear in the silence and saw the deadly intent the narrow set of his eyes staring him down. 

He wanted to call out to the smaller man, to apologize and beg for the chance to explain himself.  To tell Ruki that he had it all wrong and that Aoi was useless when it came to words and actions.  But he knew it would cross Uruha’s line.  It would test the patience that Aoi could already see slipping and fuel the beast that already had a taste for Aoi’s blood. 

With nothing more he could do, Aoi fled.  He took the stairs two at a time, crashing down them with his shoulder and elbow the only things keeping him stable.  Where only minutes ago he had ascended, led up by an angel, now he tumbled to his doom, chased by the demons of his own actions and followed by eyes drenched in hatred. 

He was so desperate to escape that he forgot his shoes at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: It’s really hard to write a fully consensual smut scene without kissing! Like, seriously. Have you ever tried it? 
> 
> Anyway. One more chapter to go, kids! I’m getting my microphone ready to drop as we speak.
> 
> As always, thoughts, curses, proclamations of cold showers needed etc. always appreciated!


	5. Rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: 
> 
> Don’t read this if you can’t handle some harsh reality. 
> 
> Seriously. 
> 
> Chapter theme song: [Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkhY4YXX6x4)

# 5\. Rebirth.

_You cannot be caught by anybody. You've become a fluttering butterfly._

 

 

The morning air was cold against his skin and Aoi instinctively shrugged further into his jacket. He pulled the worn sleeves down over his hands, balling the abused material in his fists as he juggled himself from foot to foot in a poor attempt to keep warm.

Seasons had changed, as they always did, and Aoi was sure he was losing his grasp on time. Summer, autumn, winter and spring; they all rolled into one. It was either blistering hot or bone-numbing cold and Aoi couldn’t tell which was worse.

Above him, the street light flickered, dancing to its usual tune. On. Off. On. On. Darkness. Aoi’s eye twitched as he sank further against the wall, seeking warmth in the corner that he knew so well.

He hardly recognized the other man when he approached. Ruki was all about the extravagant, all about the theatrics. He knew what made people want him and he played up on the knowledge.

Yet here, away from those red lights and out of that alluring window he was someone else entirely.

Off his pedestal and satin throne, he was human, just like Aoi.

Gone was the makeup, the lip gloss long rubbed off though on what Aoi didn’t want to know. If any eyeliner reminded it was hidden under oversized sunglasses, the lack of sun apparently making no never mind to the smaller man. His hair was flat and smothered under a deep hood of dark wool, the ends threadbare and frayed; the zip of the hoodie was only pulled half the way up. A soft leather jacket covered the whole ensemble, adding that touch of something dark that Aoi was so used to.

The only thing about him that really struck home with Aoi’s memories was the cigarette that hung precariously from the corner of his mouth.

He looked distracted, his covered eyes on his feet and his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his hoodie. Aoi wondered what sort of night he had had. Was it busy, the time between clients small and rushed, or had he been sitting there in the cold of the night, smoking and drinking and simply waiting his life away.

Secretly, Aoi wished it was the latter. The more he thought about it, the more he looked at that gold scarf that brightened his sorry excuse for a home, the more reality started to set in. Somewhere, somehow, he had fallen for the other man. It wasn’t love – Aoi knew that – but it was something just as strong, perhaps even stronger. Obsession, maybe; desire surly, but need was simply more likely.

Aoi needed him; he craved him and all the dreams and promises that Ruki had to offer. Ruki was a light in a world of darkness, a glimmer of something better that only the downtrodden could see. That only they could appreciate.

He was hope.

If given the chance Aoi had no doubt that those feelings would flourish, that they would change and morph into that ideal of love that the world seemed to have.

But Aoi didn’t think that was for them. They were from two different worlds yet shared the same exile from reality. Love wasn’t there for them. It was a feeling reserved for those who walked in the light of the day, for those who giggled over dinner at chain izakaya’s and returned home to well-appointed apartments.

Love was for those who could afford it.

Maybe they’d smile at each other and brush shoulders as they walked, or they’d share meaningful glances while browsing the shelves of the konbini, looking for something to eat in the early hours of the morning, but they wouldn’t dance around each other and cook in a shared kitchen. They wouldn’t snuggle on a couch and watch movies until the sun came up.

Love was expensive. Just as expensive as Ruki.

However, Aoi was different; Ruki had always shown that. Aoi was the one that Ruki had always taken a chance on, and now that time had passed, Aoi was sure that he was the one that Ruki would accept.

Clients came and went in their expensive taxi’s, they threw money at the mama-san and took their fill of the product on offer. But they didn’t see Ruki the way Aoi did. To them, he was just a good night and a better fuck. A walk on the wild side and a moment of escapism from nagging wives and screaming children.

They’d never understand Ruki the way Aoi did, and Aoi was sure that Ruki knew that.

These men didn’t need guidance, they didn’t need a presence to remind them that life was worth something and that even gutter trash like Aoi deserved a chance.

They didn’t deserve what Ruki had to offer.

Filled with determination, Aoi stepped out from his darkened spot by the wall and into the flickering glow of the streetlight. He didn’t want to frighten Ruki and lurking in the dark served no purpose. After all, he’d spent months watching the other man come and go, move around his little window and greet and farewell clients.

Aoi had never tried to go back, not even when his pockets felt laden with money and his own hand couldn’t satisfy his need. He wasn’t welcome at that door and Aoi could still remember the flash of danger in the mama-san’s eyes.

Aoi watched as Ruki saw him and could pinpoint the moment the other conjured him from his memory. It had been months, after all, closer to a year since that fateful last night. Since Aoi had tasted what he’d so desperately needed.

At first Ruki had tensed, his steps faltering slightly and Aoi imagined that his eyes would have narrowed behind the protection of those glasses. A million things would have run through the other man’s head; who was lurking in the darkness and why; how could he get away if the need arose? But instead, a moment later, Ruki’s feet stopped completely, his shoulders squared and his pale little hand lifted to all but yank the cigarette from his mouth. The action was the most ungraceful thing that Aoi had ever seen him do.

Ruki regarded him like a suspicious cat, stalking something that might just be dangerous. His head tipped to the side, the glasses keeping his eyes unreadable and Aoi watched as the smoke started to burn away to nothing.

Aoi had thought he’d be greeted with anger. With a snarled out ‘what the fuck do you want?’ or something of the sort. He knew he wasn’t about to get one of Ruki’s brilliant smiles, or that the younger man wasn’t about to run over and leap into his arms, but words couldn’t describe how thankful he was for what he was given. It revealed another of Ruki’s many layers; all parts of him that Aoi wanted so desperately to deconstruct and understand.

“Aoi?” Ruki said his name as if he had to reconfirm that Aoi was really there; as if he needed to make sure that the figure before him did exist and he wasn’t just imposing a familiar face over one unknown.

It was all Aoi could do to breathe out Ruki’s name.

That was all the other man seemed to need. Aoi watched as Ruki tensed, his head lifting slightly as that cigarette was jammed back between his sinful lips.

“Fuck off, Aoi.” It was far from the declaration of need that Aoi had foolishly prayed for, but he guessed he really did have that coming. Ruki brushed right past him, a shove of his shoulder proving that he clearly had somewhere else he’d rather be.

“Ruki, please wait.” Aoi knew he was begging and he didn’t care. He turned on his heels and took a few jogged steps to catch up with Ruki. He wanted to reach out and grab his arm, to turn him around and make him stop and listen to what he had to say yet he thought better of it. The last thing Ruki wanted was to be manhandled on his way home from work and Aoi was smart enough to know that such actions would only set Ruki further on edge. They needed to talk, and Aoi had to make Ruki understand what Aoi had meant that fateful night.

“Go away, Aoi,” Ruki muttered, smoke trailing past his lips and evaporating into the air. His steps quickened and Aoi pushed himself to not only match the pace but go faster, scooting around to block Ruki’s path. He could see Ruki looking over his shoulder, glancing at the empty road behind Aoi, before turning his head and looking back the way he’d come. Fight or flight, and looking for salvation. It was natural, especially given the way they’d ended things.

“Please just listen to me,” Aoi continued.

Ruki was finally still, his eyes burning into Aoi’s soul as he puffed on his cigarette. But at least he’d stopped trying to walk. Aoi took that as a good sign and plunge ahead.

“It’s not much,” Aoi said quickly. His planned speech that he’d rehearsed to himself over and over went out the window the moment Ruki had said his name. Three words in and Aoi was lost and Ruki, while not judgemental – never judgemental – looked confused. The expression sat oddly well on the smaller man’s face. It smoothed out the harsh edges of his features and played upon his beauty to make him look young and vulnerable. In that single moment, Aoi vowed to do everything and anything unexpected that he could from here on in, just to see the other man pout slightly and look up at Aoi from beneath his lashes.

“I mean,” Aoi tried again as he failed to swallow the lump that had settled into the back of his throat. “That wasn’t where I was meant to start at all.”

Ruki sighed and cocked a hip, his eyes wandering behind his glasses, but he didn’t try to interrupt.

“I had this speech, ya know. And it sounded great. I had it all worked out and it was going to be, well, great.” Aoi sighed deeply, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t want to come and see you anymore,” he started but even as he did, he frowned. Did that sound rough? Harsh, maybe? He didn’t want to upset Ruki in any way, so he quickly scrambled to finish the thought. “Instead I want to save that money. And take you for a drink, or maybe lunch. See you in the daylight, away from all this. Breakfast, even.

“I know I’m flawed, and god, I know I have nothing to offer, but maybe if you’re not opposed to it and fuck, if you don’t think I’m an idiot, I’d like to try and maybe… both of us get out of here. Maybe we can save each other and maybe you might be able to fix me.”

The silence between them was deafening. Aoi could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears; feel the blood rushing through his veins. Ruki was unreadable as ever, his glasses shielding the only part of himself that seemed to give anything away.

“You love the idea of me, Aoi. You don’t know me.”

They really weren’t the words that Aoi was expecting. Obviously, he hadn’t dared to hope for some sort of declaration returned in kind, and only in his wildest and most elaborately desperate dreams did Ruki throw himself into Aoi’s arms and say that he’d been waiting for Aoi to return all along.

“Then let me know you.” Obviously, it was the most simple solution in the world. They’d grow and learn about each other, grow _towards_ each other. They’d learn each other as time went by.

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

Aoi got it. He really did. It was Ruki that didn’t seem to understand that Aoi would go through any teething process needed just to see them through the early days. He’d ask questions like Ruki’s favourite colour, and how he had his coffee of a morning and they’d talk and talk until there was nothing lost between them.

“You’re a job, Aoi.” Ruki’s tone was strange. Clipped and emotionless. The words he said made Aoi feel like maybe Ruki should be yelling, but his tone never picked up. He just spoke, his head shaking every few words and Aoi found it hard to keep track of their meaning. He even removed his sunglasses, tucking one arm into the pocket of his jeans so that they hung by his side. “You’re obsessed with what I gave you because it was exactly what you desperately needed. I created something that you would _pay_ for. When you couldn’t make up your mind, then I was strong and decisive and took control. When you were off on your little power trips I played diminished and let you lead.”

“Ruki-”

“I’m a whore, Aoi-“

“Don’t say that!”

“I deal in fantasies,” they were talking over the top of each other, and Aoi knew he was listening, but his blood was starting to boil. He hated that word. Hated everything damn letter of it. _Whore_. Ruki should never think of himself like that; hell, he should have never needed to turn to that. They would change that together. Ruki wouldn’t need to put himself through that any longer; Aoi would see to it.

“I create them,” Ruki continued, and Aoi wasn’t too sure what he was talking about. “You buy them. None of that is me. You’re hooked up on your own sordid invention. So much so that you couldn't even remember to abide by my one simple rule!”

Aoi didn’t really hear what Ruki said. All he could think to do was breathe out Ruki’s name again, just to feel it, to taste it on his lips.

“That’s not even my name.”

“Ruki…”

The sound that left Ruki’s lips was born of nothing but frustration; even Aoi could see that. But there was something else he could see. A flash of light – two lights – bright and blinding in the darkness and Aoi moved before he spoke.

He grabbed Ruki’s arm, his grip tight and unyielding as he started to pull him out of the centre of the road. They went left towards the sidewalk, where the overpass loomed overhead and the fence had long fallen down. Ruki protested and struggled, hissed and swore, but Aoi simply gave him a little push – gentle as a kitten – into the shadows as a car picked up speed and flew by. Aoi stood guard, keeping Ruki in the shadows with Aoi’s body between him and any other threatening traffic.

“Taxi,” Aoi said simply. Standing and talking in the middle of the road hadn’t really been that smart of an option.

Ruki had seemed to calm at that, clearly thankful that he hadn’t been left to be hit from behind, and Aoi took that as a good sign.

“Ruki,” he continued. He took a step closer to the smaller man, a smile creeping on his face as Ruki fell into his hard to get ways and took a teasing step backwards. This was more like it. They were on the right path now. Give and take. Flirt and tease. Swaying hips and eyes looking up at him through dark lashes.

“Let’s just try this. I know you’re scared – I am too. And I know that I’m meant to be rich and in a sports car that I can sweep you away in, but I can give you so much more than anyone like that. I can understand you, and we can help each other.”

The fallen down fence passed on either side of Aoi as he spoke and Ruki backed up. Ruki’s hair caught in the glow of the street lights mounted to the cement barriers far above them, and Aoi thought Ruki looked like an angel, all soft colours and glowing promise. He was like the scarf that still swung in Aoi’s room, eternal and forever beautiful, scrubbed clean in rainwater to keep the shine alive.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Ruki was confused; Aoi was listening. “I’m not interested in you. You were a job; a paying client that I made myself deal with for the cash. You didn’t come in a taxi, but you came just like everyone else. I don’t want help; we can’t help each other. Hell, you can’t even save yourself!”

Ruki walked them backwards, all swaying hips and fingers straightening the edges of his jacket, and there was something in his eyes the moment his back hit a concert support pillar. Anticipation; a thrill and a rush of adrenaline. That was what Aoi saw as he smiled and stepped in close. There was warm breath on his face as he looked down at Ruki.

“I want to go, Aoi.” Bare eyes flashed up to meet with his and Aoi was once again swept away with just how beautiful the other man was. Months ago he’d claimed that it was all smoke and mirrors, illusions and tricks played on the mind, but Aoi knew differently. Here, bare-faced and looking tired, with eyes that squinted with his words, Ruki was still a sight to behold.

Aoi’s hand moved on its own accord, reaching out to trace a line down Ruki’s perfect cheek. Ruki turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, his eyelashes still dark against the paleness of his skin.

“Aoi.” Hearing his name come from the prostitute was like music to Aoi’s ears and he groaned lightly in response. “Let me leave. Please.”

Ruki’s eyes were darting through the darkness over Aoi’s shoulder, and Aoi wondered what demons he was seeing. Leering faces in the night and twisted representations of all the men who had abused him over the years. It made Aoi’s heart break in two.

“Fine,” Ruki shot back. Had Aoi spoken? “You want a freebie. Fine. We can do it right here, fast and hard and dirty, just how you like it. Just leave me alone afterwards, ok?”

It wasn’t about freebies. Ruki should have known that already. Once they were together it would be different, and hell, Aoi didn’t think he could let anyone else touch Ruki. They’d have to discuss that as well. Find an alternative arrangement for Ruki to earn money. Maybe he could work in a snack bar in Kamagasaki. It was just around the corner, just a few streets over…

Aoi’s hand seemed to remember the right way to go. It flowed over cheek and down over jaw, before lightly tracing lines up and down on Ruki’s throat. He remembered that line of red gloss that he’d once drawn there, just as he remembered that golden scarf that tied them together. So much colour on such a pale stretch of skin. It bloomed before his eyes.

Aoi had to touch it. Had to feel it. His fingers stroked and caressed and Ruki made a strange bucking motion against him, his body surging to the right as if he was falling from the pleasure. It was alright though because Aoi would never let anything hurt him again and he proved it by catching Ruki and pressing him safely back against the concrete. Closing him in with the comfort of his body while protecting him from the world.

Fingers trailed along Ruki’s jaw, mapping the line of bone and the petite curve of his chin. Perfect. Ruki staggered again, this time to the left and Aoi felt where Ruki’s hand had accidentally swung at him, colliding with skin as he struggled to keep his demons at bay. It hurt like hell, but Aoi knew that Ruki had always been explosive and physical. It only made sense that he’d have a hard time giving himself over to someone else’s protection, and Aoi needed to prove that he was strong enough to provide that.

It was that thought in mind that kept him from reacting to the way Ruki tested him, thrashing against him and trying to force Aoi to break his promise already by battering him away.

Aoi got a better grip on Ruki this time, his hands surrounding the centre of Ruki’s perfection and offering strength with his touch.

“Aoi!” Ruki was all large eyes and parted lips as he looked up at Aoi. Sin and promise. Fine wine and red, red, _red_ in his eyes.

Aoi’s hands were turning gold. The more skin he touched, the more he just _squeezed_ and brought them together, the more he seemed to shimmer. To glow and see the way out of this darkness.

Ruki had always been his light.

Ruki seemed to know this as well. His hands kept reaching for Aoi’s own, closing around his fingers and holding tight. Promising to never let go even as the smaller man struggled to decide what to touch; Aoi’s hands or his face. His fingers were like claws in their desperation to be part of Aoi’s ascension. He didn’t want to be left behind. They were made for each other.

Small fingers curled around the side of Aoi’s face, thumbs pressing in almost too roughly against Aoi’s closed eyelids. But it was alright. Aoi shifted his head back and then lent into the touch, his face maneuvering Ruki’s hand into a way that was more gentle. He nuzzled into those fingers, caressed his cheek against that palm and felt Ruki’s breath hitch at the pleasure of it.

Ruki was coming undone in his hands, his face crumbling with need and desire, his mouth open in a way that made Aoi want to lean in. Taste the same air that Ruki exhaled.

“It’s alright,” Aoi pacified soothingly. He’d never leave Ruki behind. They’d do this together; go together. _Save each other._

“Aoi. Please.” Ruki begging was the most erotic, perfect thing in the world, and Aoi knew that he’d never grow tired of hearing it. “Hurting…”

Ruki’s leg was brushing up against his own, his shoes scuffing Aoi’s pants. He was clearly trying to hook his leg up around Aoi, but the headiness of their bond was hindering his progress. The smaller man kept missing, his foot colliding with Aoi’s shin; his thigh; dangerously close to his crotch.

Aoi would help him, he’d lift that leg up and wrap it around his hip so he could rock them against each other. Let them feel each other. But soon. In just a moment. Aoi didn’t want to let go of Ruki; not for the world. He needed to prove that he’d always be there, that he’d never leave Ruki alone and abandoned and now that he finally had him in his grasp, Aoi could see the way the man came alight beneath him.

Ruki was beautiful. Flushed and gasping, his eyes open and inviting Aoi in.

A pure light in all the darkness of these shabby, disgusting streets.

Aoi couldn’t resist. After all, who was he, a mere mortal, to keep denying the god melded against him? It was blasphemous to even keep trying to delay what they both needed so bad.

Ruki tasted like spring. Like Sakura in the wind, or the spray of the ocean against Aoi’s lips. There was a wetness there, salty and warm, and Aoi knew that Ruki was crying. It made Aoi’s heart break, to think that Ruki would show that sadness to him, that he trusted Aoi enough to let his emotions overflow.

It told Aoi that they’d be alright.

“It’s ok now,” Aoi promised. “No one will ever hurt you again.” He’d been desperate to say those words the last time, and now he whispered them against Ruki’s lips. Against that forbidden fruit.

Ruki rasped through his emotions, tears falling on his face as he started to sag in Aoi’s grasp. He was starting to understand; coming to the conclusion that he and Aoi were meant to be, that Aoi would always protect him.

Across the road, the street light flickered violently. On. Off. On. On. Darkness. Aoi’s eye twitched as he pressed closer to Ruki, keeping him upright as they sought each other’s warmth and closeness. The expression in Ruki’s eyes was poignant. There was such depth there, so much sorrow; so many years of pain and hidden accusations, and Aoi was sure that it was good that Ruki was letting it all go. Cleansing himself before they started afresh together.

Off to the right, that fabled street light on the corner that seemed to have no end, flickered for the last time, the bulb shattering under the stress of the surging power.

It was the moment that Ruki seemed to need. The moment he breathed out the last of his sorrow and gave himself over to Aoi with a choked sob and rasping gasp. He became heavy in Aoi’s arms, heavy and limp as he let go of all his pain and sunk into Aoi’s embrace. Small hands slipped from Aoi’s wrists and fell to dangle lifelessly by his sides.

Aoi had to steady them both, his body sagging under the passive weight that Ruki had become, but he’d never drop the precious bundle. He groaned a little and grunted while folding in on himself and lowered them both to the ground. It took a little shuffling – the action made hard from the complete lack of help from Ruki – but Aoi finally managed to get them so he was sitting with his back to the pillar Ruki had previously been leaning against. Ruki was remarkably still in his lap. Perfect, beautiful and otherworldly. His eyes looked towards the future, startled but kept open by sheer determination. And his hair, straight for the first time since Aoi had seen him, blew in the cool breeze.

Aoi flattened it down, toying with the strands, and turned his face towards the sky. He could smell it on the air.

 

Spring was coming.

 

****

 

_You're tearing me apart_

_Crushing me inside_

_Without your love_

_(You used to lift me up)_

_You're crushing me inside_

_(Now you get me down)_

_With you close by_

_I'm dazed in madness_

_Can't lose this sadness_

_It's ripping me apart_

_It's tearing me apart_

_It's tearing me apart_

_…I don't know why_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… Mic drop!
> 
>  
> 
> So. Come on. Tell me you saw that coming!? I dare you too! Tell me the moment when you realised that Aoi was batshit fucking insane! Tell me that you knew they wouldn’t kiss and end up in a Pretty Woman setting, just without the money! 
> 
> On a side note, I occasionally frighten myself… 
> 
> Notes and thoughts:
> 
> \+ I remember talking to a friend about this possible ending and she summed it up so perfectly. She said the end was like that ghastly news story you click on Facebook on a Monday morning and just skim over with a cup of coffee. Something dark to go with your mood, but you don’t really care. Just, with this story, you get to see and feel and experience the lead up to that ‘Suspected sex worker found dead under overpass’ news headline. 
> 
> \+ So, what do you think? Did Ruki pay the ultimate price for Spring? Or actually, did Aoi? Did Aoi stay there, running his fingers through Ruki’s hair until they were found, or did he ‘find his spring’ and move on, knowing that he was ‘free’ so to speak? 
> 
> \+ Not going to lie. This whole damn thing was hard to do and it took several rewrites (and god, I hate rewrites!!!!!) Generally, I write something, I edit it, I post it. That’s it. I never rewrite shit because I’m too lazy. Ha. But this one needed it, and it tended to need it a lot. 
> 
> \+ It has taken me about 5 years to write this fic. FIVE FUCKING YEARS!! Of course, I forgot about it for large chunks of time and spent years out of fandom. And then when I came back to it, it still took over a year to complete. Mostly because I’ve never been much of a smut writer, so I really needed to be in the right frame of mind, with a good amount of time to write that. Also, I went travelling for 5 months. And then other times I’d open it, read it and depress myself and then forget about it for a few months. 
> 
> So big thanks to all those who have stuck with it! 
> 
> \+ Fun fact though. I used a lot of exact same words and phrases as descriptions throughout the whole thing, right from the very start. If you’re ever bored as fuck, then go through and have a look. There are descriptions through the smut (I know that ‘Ruki begging was the most erotic, perfect thing in the world’ was one) that come into word for wordplay through the murder scene. Ties Aoi’s issues into a nice little bow. 
> 
> \+ On another note, sorry to all those that may want to cry about the idea of there being no ‘Character Death’ warning, but come on! Having ‘Major Character Death’ plastered all over the thing would really ruin it. Movies and Game of Thrones and the like don’t come with those warnings. Plus, really, it’s me! Writing a porn set in a shitty, desolate world. Of course, something bad was going to happen! 
> 
> \+ Massive shout out to @Hereticpop. While you didn’t say it out loud, you hinted at and mentioned a few things that were key to Aoi’s disposition and how he was creating a fantasy out of something that was just as harsh as his own reality! He was getting lost in his own world and romanticized things that shouldn’t be. However, you also saw the good. You pointed out the ways that Aoi saw the ‘human’ sides of Ruki, but didn’t quite click with what had to be going through Aoi’s mind at the same time. Still, though, I swear that you’re my long-distance, wine drinking, evil fic plotting twin! 
> 
> \+ I wrote these notes when I finished writing the fic, so a good week and a bit ago now. At that time I wrote: “May (or may not) be toying with the idea of something a little more light-hearted for these two after this clusterfuck of bad juju. Ya know, just saying…”
> 
> Since writing that, I can now say that there is something in the works. It’s coming along very nicely, is something totally different and unexpected for me, and I promise not to kill anyone in it!
> 
> Soundtrack updates: Bastille – [(I Just) Died in your Arms Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ieUJBcJp2vE) is the song you should totally listen to after you’ve had a few minutes to process the feels and the rollercoaster I just threw you on, and you finally find that you’re ready for a semi-insane cackle over it all. 
> 
> As always, comments fuel me. I do accept both love and hate mail! Both go great with cheese and wine!


End file.
